Quiet. I am silent after two formal laughs. My smile turns into a frown. My cheeks are pulled down by gravity until my discomfort and anxiety is pouring out, a frightening flood I’m not able to hold in. I cope before I feel. I write before I understand. I am humiliated by my incapability… my lack of essence when it comes to offering comfort. I am so bad at consoling it is depressing. I am the replica of my father’s negativity. Somewhere inside me there is a warmth that can be touched like sponge, but my eyes are dry right now. I feel like throwing up and sleeping and going away all at once.