the doctor, she comes in and asks me what it is i'm here for. "i don't know"
she nods and sits. let the questioning begin.
throughout it all i couldn't help but think what a waste this all is. not once did she show any sign of understanding or even wait for me to cease crying when the questions ran too deep.
but then i remembered it was not her job to console me.
out of everything she tells me, the one thing i remember is:
"it will get easier someday. it may not be soon, but it will. and when it does, you will look back on this and laugh."
you will look back on this and laugh
it's been almost a month. the only laughing i do is the flattery kind.

today, the pain came over me again. i felt it in my chest. i was scared. i have grown numb to it until now. but i held myself and went outside, staring into the sky and forgetting myself. the pain, it must have forgotten me as well.
when i looked up, around me, and faced my own reality i heard birds. i heard the rustle of palm trees and a little boy whining across the water. i sniggered and it startled me.
i was laughing at his pain.
but what is his pain to me? little ones that whine and beg, you don't think that they are pained. but isn't it all that matters to them at that stage? nothing in the whole entire world matters to a five year old than getting a lollipop like he always does at the grocery, or playing with his toys after dinner.

when this does not happen.. when these things for some reason leave.. all that matters to them is letting someone know they are not okay with it.

being a teen, looking back on childhood tantrums and being put in your room seems so pointless. but wasn't it everything back then? you lost your own imaginary world, just for that five minutes in time-out.

it hurts when it's something big to you.
everything, everything all around you doesn't matter. you will beg and plead, rip your barbie's heads off and scream. but that never got you anywhere.

after five minutes, your time comes again. and everything in your little world is so right again.