I think this is going to end up becoming a depressive rant and that scares me because I haven’t felt an inch of sadness since I started my meds. But there are some kinds of pain that even medication can’t control. You try to cover the hurts with a band-aid hoping for them to heal, but what good are band aids when the hole in your heart is from a bullet.

I’ve been shot. I can’t explain how or why here, for the fear of being speculated and probed and incised by untrained surgical hands of my dear friends. I fear that I will bleed out.

I will nurse my bullet wounds, cover them up with band aids, and try to walk like no one notices the flinch on my face every time I draw a breath.

Social anxiety, my psychiatrist labeled my feelings.

Caution, I say. After all look where it got me when I opened up.