Refrigerator Magnets

    In our refrigerator, on top of old pizza boxes, sheathed in a plastic Wal*Mart bag, is a neon orange container with 24 hours worth of my Nana's urine. Doctor's orders! I just had to cart the thing, with it's own thick handle all the way to the hospital so it could be tested or processed or whatever and no one was there to take it. I wondered the abandoned outpatient center carrying the thing. I walked to the left where I know the labs are... no one there. To the right is the delivery waiting room and farther is the viewing window to peak at babies. No babies though, the blinds are pulled taunt. I walk back to the front desk, lights are off, doors are shut. No one's home! I carry the orange canister like a lunch box back through the automatic doors, into the gusting wind, back to my faithful steed, a '96 Buick Le Sabre I named Abednego.  This is not a fiction story, this is actually my life. This is actually my life.
    I'm an alone person. I like love to be alone. So imagine an alone person never being able to alone. People usually don't get it. There are those few, blessed, kindred spirits that understand. When I'm around other people I have to be cautious and aware of their emotions and feelings and be considerate and empathetic and sympathetic and a good listener and sometimes a good adviser. I'm not complaining. I want to be all of those things. But it's exhausting. Because it never stops. And with my Nana I have to be all of those things and a nurse and an organizer. I have to keep track of her, notice and gauge her emotions, keep her happy, keep her well.
It's too much.
    I stew. My insides boil and then harden and my outside is hardening and I'm turning into some lifeless statue. I stay consistently frustrated. tick, tick, ticking I'm afraid something will set me off. To ward off explosions I usually just walk away from a situation. Turn around, walk away, breathe. Maybe watch a funny youtube video. If everyone usually gets one scoop of patience, I promise I got at least three more. My patience was the one thing I could rely on, and even it is wearing down.
    We've talked a lot about friction in my beginner physics class. Friction, the causer of lightning bolts, is in me. Everything bad is friction against my patience, my resolve, and maybe even my sanity. Even bad world news and events seeps into the core of my being. I have a tendency towards extreme empathy and sympathy. I cry will reading about the Malaysian plane and the families who were allowed to hope, told to hope, and then having it ripped out from under them without a crushed plane or strewn bodies floating in water. They didn't even get dead bodies. They got a text. STOP HOPING. IT'S NO USE.
   I'm a wreck, or a potential wreck. I keep slipping under my own cast spells, living in a borderline reality so I don't have to take on so much. Focus on school? I'll daydream instead. Work to fulfill my dreams? I'll read another predictable YA trilogy that will leave me empty. Sleep? I'll stay up, toss and turn, my brain whirring like a machine.
    I think the worst part is... the worst part is that I don't feel nineteen. I don't feel young. A few more months and I won't be a teenager any more. Two decades in a couple of months and all I'll wish for is a day to be young. As if I'm not. As if I've lived a thousand years. I already feel bad writing this. I have a roof and food and a good education. I have alive family members and well family members. A loving family. Some friends, not many. But I can't help how I feel.


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