I wrap myself up in being busy like clothes. Being alone is a nightmare, like hiding under a blanket in the dark. I make myself do things because if I don’t I start to think. Day time is quiet. The voices in my head not screaming so loud. But the moment I’m alone my mind starts to race like a car on a track. My brain is making decisions my heart doesn’t know if it can live with. I feel torn into shreds by my own self existence. Over my 20 years of life I have skillfully learned to hide away all the things that are wrong with me. I see the looks I get when someone hears even a sliver of the things I have dealt with. The pity and the shame thrust upon me like knives in my skin. Yet every day I can plaster my face with a smile. “Pay no attention to that girl behind the curtain.”
