The Buried One 1985

The Buried One
1985
Richard O Harris

There is a human being inside of me buried far beneath the surface. A being whose inner most thoughts and feelings have been ignored and drowned out so long you would think it impossible for it to remain in existence. But this being is so desirous of life that no matter what torture it is subjected to it will not cease or desist.
I do not know a lot about this person my self because I have spent so much time and energy trying to reject him that I’ve never really known who he is or what he is, only that he is there and will not go away.
I have mad another person out of my mind to hide the buried one’s existence from the rest of the world as though he were some hideous or deformed person that would repel others. And why not since I have rejected the buried one myself?
I want to get to know him now because this other person I have made does not have the things I thought he had. He is not strong enough to bear the forced silence the buried one has borne without becoming bitter and full of hatred. He does not know how to love even those who despise and reject him like the buried one does. And he knows as well as the buried one that he does not be long, that he’s out of place, a trespasser living only on the longsuffering tolerance of the buried one. And he fears the judgments the buried one will pass on him not daring to hope for the forgiveness he so desperately wants and needs from the buried one.
Both the trespasser and the buried one is me. Can I forgive my self for pretending I am some one I am not? Can I forgive my self for denying who I am? I think I can. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can. I think. I can.