Bottom of the Well

I ran from the world in the same manner that I ran from myself. It was a frenzied thing: thoughts scattered; emotions torn, raw, bloodied; reasoning and motive nonexistent. To me, running was the only outcome. It was my way to escape when no other solutions were clear.
But what is it that I am doing now, down at the very bottom? I tumbled, plummeted straight down, until I hit rock-bottom with a crash that shattered every paradigm, every preconceived idea that I had about the reality of the world that I had run from. And, of course, myself.
I questioned. I tasted of myself and my surroundings with the taste buds of my soul, and I pondered. Answers, questions, unanswered questions, doubts, dreams, and mysteries pierced at my being with every breath drawn. I was a blank slate, unmolded clay, a canvas yet to be painted upon! The world was new, and I stumbled, unsure and new myself. To be overwhelmed at the magnitude of things is a little like waking up naked in a room full of people you don't know: you feel vulnerable, embarrassed, alarmed -- and either very, very large or very, very small.
The question that remains here is this: am I running back to where I came from, or further away? Or perhaps I am not running anymore at all, and am simply frozen, unable to move, unwilling to change; stagnant in my way of life, my way of thinking, my way of self; utterly immobile, broken, dead.