I wonder how long it will take me to be whole.

You might think that this sounds odd or possibly vain, but it is a thought that torments me constantly as I am driving home in the wee hours of the morning.

I'm tired of being captured by the picture that others have of me, as I am more than a nervous disposition and a small frame.

Everyday I go through the motions, yet everyone I experience seems to see right through me. I am only a temporary splotch of paint that will be covered up on their canvas of convenience.

I finally reached my breaking point, and as I stood there with tears leaking through my closed eyes, you asked me if I was okay and at first I didn't even hear your voice.

I try to keep my emotions under control, but I have come to accept the fact that humans can only hold in so many different feelings before they explode.

You saw the small crumble of my body and mind, watched all of my colors pour out of me, and yet you stayed.

I am entirely grateful.