Sometimes it is just there in the pit of your stomach, bubbling under. Each little phrase and laugh is a dig at you, winging across the room to impact like a punch to the solar plexus and, while everyone else has their head thrown back with laughter, you are just slowly reaching your break point. You are trying not to boil over, but there is always that one irrelevant thing that someone says that is the coup de grace — the blow you cannot recover from.

They had been verbally working me over for an hour and i don’t even think they realized it, even after i left. My food had stuck in my throat for a second, and i could feel myself turning a little red, and then i wasn’t in control of it anymore. Boiling over. Screaming, cursing, slamming, until i was out of there and down Walnut Street and back in my room. I wasn’t in control of it; my body entered some sort of social fight-or-flight reflex on my behalf. Some quick words to the roommates, and then i was up the stairs and locking the door, and on my bed i was mouthing over and over “i can’t change anything, i can’t change anything.” And i know that i can’t. I know that i am two decades into this and that i set myself up for this fall for my entire life, but it doesn’t making the landing any easier.

I knew it couldn’t possibly work twice in a row.

Last night i was miserable and so i went out. It was a good idea; sitting around and moping wasn’t going to fix anything. Tonight i had the same impulse, but although it was well-intentioned of me i think that i realistically should have realized that it was time for a recharge Because, if i don’t take time to recenter every so often i manage to let people see through to what’s underneath. And, that never works out too well.