I was lost. I see that now - I mean, I could see it then, but looking back I can see just how lost I was. They picked me up and put me back on the path, and I was so grateful, just because it was a path, just because it was better than the wilderness I'd been walking through for the best part of fifteen years.

Just a path. Now I see I'd have taken anything, anyone, to feel less alone. And they'd have taken anyone. I was nothing special, to them, just a face and a wallet. I guess deep down I knew that, but at the time I thought I could live with it, just to feel wanted. Even if it was a lie.

Sometimes, though, when you lie to yourself, you get very good at it. And looking at the time I spent, the money I spent, the things I did...well, I wonder just how much of the lie was theirs and how much was my own. And I suppose I can take a little comfort in that, in knowing that a part of me never lost my independence, that a part of me knew exactly what was going on, and agreed to it.

But it's only a little comfort, because then I have to wonder why.