Every morning I lock myself in the closet. I look myself in the eyes and sigh, before I bind my hands and shove myself in. I lock the door. There are many locks. Bolts too. Big ones, small ones Old ones, new ones I fasten them all before I leave.
I cry to myself as I sit in the dark, my arms numb from my restraints. Even as each day grinds past and responsibilities come and go. Sometimes when I get home at night I will kick the door to remind myself I'm still in there. The locks rattle and strain. I yell at myself to shut up.