The feeling comes at the most inappropriate of times. It chews you and spits you back out. It doesn't stop there though, it stomps on you, on your thoughts, on your will. And even after it's done, you know that it'll come back.

It's sick. Because you don't mind. You welcome it and you let it hurt you. To remind you of the pain others caused to you. Because the scar is still there. Fresh and deep. And you can't do anything because it was done. And it's too late to change it now. But you still feel the pain.

You'd do anything to let your hurt be known but you're good at controlling it. But all that control has taken it's toll. On you. So you block people out and try to be polite. To protect them from the rage that's taken over you.

"You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view. Until you climb into his skin and walk around in it."

-To kill a Mockingbird

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