Triggers

Sometimes it feels like the world is pushing away from me in all directions, and I’m so far away from everything. I see something—a tree, a shirt, a book—and suddenly I’m in New Jersey again. Floating.

I close my eyes and I’m on the floor of the church crying or I am laying perfectly still staring up at the ceiling in my owner’s room or I am in a room with two men looking down over me or I am standing in front of the girl in the cage (who has it so much worse off than I do. I should be grateful to my owner for His kindness. He could be much meaner to me) or I am being trained by my owner and His friend when all I want to do is play piano downstairs.

Part of me is glad that I left (which I know is wrong. I should be punished) because I don’t think I would have been able to handle it when I got too old. I would rather die than pick someone new. Although, I guess I’d rather die than do a lot of things. Maybe, I would rather be punished again than pick someone new. And now I don’t have to.

― ρ