Gone Again

by Minka Kent

My anxieties rotate on a never-ending carousel. For as long as I can remember, an unsettled sensation has resided in the pit of my stomach, though sometimes it takes up occupancy in my chest, and other times it loiters in my head. But it never leaves. It’s always there. Like background noise.

I’ve had enough friendships over the years to know that sometimes they’re as fickle as they are delicate, like an exotic houseplant that requires constant maintenance. The perfect amount of water. The right amount of light. If the pH of the soil is off by a decimal point in the wrong direction, it’ll shrivel up and die overnight.

I’ve settled for silence over nagging. I’ve stewed my anger until it simmers just beneath the surface, rather than expressing how I feel.

hurt people hurt people. I didn’t understand it at the time. I thought he was implying that hurt people have a right to hurt others, but that wasn’t what he was saying at all.