....?

He hit me.  I am seventeen years old and he hit me like I'm an insolent child.  He hit me and suddenly I was ten and out in the snow with only socks on my feet and no winter coat, and I'm nine and backed into a corner with his rage bearing down upon me.  He hit me an I was so many ages and so many memories I tired so hard to forget.  He hit me and then he screamed at me but I could hear none of it through the wave of memories.  And then his violence was done and he returned to what things were and left me there, among the memories and the pain.  He hit me and I threw up the wall it took so many years to break down and now my memories are raging behind it, but outside my face is blank except for the tears that drop hesitantly from my eyes and drip down my face.  I threw up my wall and now I'm not sure how to bring it down again, or even if I want to.  He hit me and I don't want to speak.  My words are precious and when I let them out I feel the blow of their loss.  He hit me and I can't speak and I can no longer feel the world, only the chaos within.