Pulling my hand out of my nice, warm mitten, I melted the tear on my eyelash and then quickly put my hand back into its nice, warm space. Did I mention that my hand was nice and warm? I chuckled to myself as thoughts of me diving into a nest of blankets on the floor of my bedroom the same way my hand dived back into the mitten circled through my mind.
But from warm, fluffy thoughts straight to reality, I needed to plan my next step. In my head, I knew what I should be doing, and I knew what I would need to do next. But at what cost?
I slowly started shutting myself down, just like one of my foster mothers showed me how to do. I stretched my neck, hearing the clicking of my bones coming into (or out of) alignment. I pulled every thought in my head deep down inside of me, so deep that even I couldn't hear the running monologue that arguably kept me sane most of my lives.
