I wept for hours in my closet today. Please don’t judge me. I admit I’m a very sensitive person. Daily interactions with my work colleagues or people on the street deeply affect me. It’s like I want to reach out and touch them, yet they spurn me with their dirty looks and curt behavior. It saddens me that most people can be so hateful and derogatory. I find myself too often coming home at the end of the day to seek sanctuary and finding a kind of catharsis in my tears. Why am I so “cursed” to have a kind heart and see the possibilities for meaningful community engagement that others can’t even fathom? Mother used to shield me from the cruel world, but I’ve been able to cope since her death through regular therapy and medication. I still seek a dark, quiet place to ease my mind and settle my heart. In my closet I can be alone and find comfort being next to my cherished possessions: my high school tennis rackets, vintage baseball card collection, childhood drawings, arcade plush animals, and the torso of my ex-girlfriend Tiffany.