Sometimes I am so small.
I squeeze my eyes
and I think
be quiet---wait.

Well really, that's a lie.
The truth
is when you're loud I shut my eyes
and I scream inside
shut up!

But the why inside both moments in my mind
comes from the same place.
Because I am shell-shocked.
And to speak clearly, make eye contact,
and sometimes even to leave the house
shakes me.

And even fighting that fight for the right to make noise unabashedly every day sometimes
loud noises still scare me.
And inside I'm still afraid.
Sometimes I can't move at all.  Not even a little bit.

So when do I get better?
Forever surfing on my depression; what is the goal, here?
When does the deep breathing and the chamomile tea and the therapy and the journaling and every other **** thing finally make me better?
When does it seem like the world is better with me in it?
Because I'm not convinced on that one at all.


But you know I suppose
It really wouldn't make a difference either way, which
is comforting.

Because when I open my computer up to the world I see hate and anger and ******
And a level of discourse that is essentially people ******* their egos onto one another as violently as possible.

But today when I walked to the grocery store a little boy on his tricycle smiled at me.
And made car noises.
And I made car noises.
And we raced.


And I wasn't afraid at all.