Not Sad

I can put sadness away. The way I can dump out a glass of water and wash it, and it’s clean again. But when I’m anxious? Anxiety feels like I’m a villain in this world. In a world full of heroes. Because everything I do is evil. Breaking a plate by dropping it on the floor… It is pain the echos. Like my mom’s voice that yells. And yes, I do cry, because I’m a horrible person. I am alone in that way. I’m alone in my room, and the fan is spinning. The fan would yell if it could. I’m alone in a room that is spiraling like my fan. I’m alone in a room and being sliced by the fan’s blades. So yes, I do cry and that’s justified. I was 10 years old. Too grown to be sad. Too alone to be sad.