Theory of (Lost) Forms

The divine original. An idea I've held close to my heart.
I ache for her; I anguish for myself. 
What I wouldn't give to be even a tenth of that person.
Not the mere shadow I am. Bound. Caged and stunted. Tainted and scarred.
I say freedom is what I crave. That is the simple answer. The truth is much more complex and dismal.
I lie and say I have no regrets. Liars and fakes, we all are. I block out what I cannot bear to feel.
The immense loss of who I was meant to be. Circumstances and travesty.
I keep what's left locked away. Safe and hidden.
I can't handle the thought of losing that tiny sliver of my soul left unscathed.
Sometimes I forget it is there. These are the moments of hopelessness and despair.
They take root and I cannot even fathom a method by which I may truly heal.
I don't let myself feel for to do so would likely be the end of me.
For my gift, which was so brutally turned into a curse, is that I feel too deeply.
How beautiful she must be. Untethered and free.
But what of strength? Is it something born or created through challenge? Innate strength.
 Is that a reality? I like to believe so. For without it, in my eyes, my divine original would flawed.
Without fear is courage found? Without loss can true appreciation be gained? I don't know these answers.
These thoughts plague me. To my core, I believe I am broken.
I would not be who I am today without the journey that brought me here.
But what of her?  How can I truly love myself when I mourn who I should be? 
I fear I can never fully face myself without breaking some integral part of myself.
The pain and sorrow I keep locked away is far too much for that tiny thread to bear.
Or is it? Perhaps my fear is the only thing holding me back. Is it worth the risk? I truly do not know.