It feels like tears welling when I think too much and when I think too little. It feels like closing the door to keep it all, everything, out there and simultaneously yearning for someone to open the door, all the while knowing that if they do I don’t have the words to explain why I closed the door in the first place. It feels like being the outsider even though my name entitles me to this home, even though this home has felt to be just that for years before. It feels like a buzzing in my ears instead of the clear articulations spoken by the ones in front of me. What did you say again? It feels like trying to refocus again and again and again. It feels like forgotten prayers or even prayers that never come, like words that sit heavily on my eyelids, coaxing me to sleep, and then waking in the morning with hopes that God is a mind or dream-reader, surely he has known all along. It feels like going to bed too early and rising too late, with muscles that ache from the exercise I never got, with doughy guilt sitting in my gut expanding more and more. It feels like a silent house is yelling at me. It feels like Fear and Anxiety are my best friends, more loyal than I can comprehend. It feels like fingers crossed that I will not be noticed or addressed directly. It’s a discomfort that I want to describe to you, but as soon as my voice leaves my tongue, that sing-song speech well-practiced and fine-tuned, to meet your eyes, I know you have misunderstood. My depths are not your depths. I’ve confused you with my disguises so I leave it be again.