Imprints of the past

"How do you do it all?"  
"Badly," I answer honestly.  
"Do you EVER switch your brain off?"  
Nope.  
I have no clue how I'm perceived.  
Maybe people think I'm trying to be Wonder Woman,
or that I'm hyperactive and eccentric,
or a show-off
(introversion notwithstanding).  
They say I seem bipolar—  
so many ideas, so little sleep—  
it must be true, right?  

The reality's ugly.  
I cannot stop, even if I wanted to  
(which I don't).  
The past taunts me  
and grasps at my future with tainted tentacles  
which have already left their traces  
on everything I think and feel.  
It's possible to defy statistics,  
but history looms large,  
formidable even, in  
foreshadowing future events.  
 
And so I run.  
I've spent decades running,  
attempting to channel  
an overactive mind  
into anything positive;  
anything at all.  
Climbing mental mountains,
learning languages,  
mastering instruments,  
devouring puzzles and books.  
Being the busy person  
who you can rely on  
to get things done.  
Keeping still lets the thoughts  
take me back there  
and gives the past a chance  
to contaminate the future.  
 
And so I run.