That itchy, achy, feeling that pulses through you for days until enough has happened to replace the embarrassment of not being enough.
That skin tightening, shoulder clenching feeling that hits when your present, when you feel seen, when your occupying space that you shouldn’t be.
Pushing the voices deep inside you, you tell yourself your worth. You push past the hurt and you try to bare a happy grin.
People look at you with pity. They hate you for your silence. Cold and timid you quiver in the corner waiting.
Waiting for the pressure to subside. Waiting to be alone again. Waiting to stop waiting. Waiting to start. Waiting to be NORMAL.