With trembling hands and pounding heart she managed to avoid the collision and pull into the alley. “You need to get off that sugar diet, buddy.” ...he said into the mirror, the comment directed towards the driver that she had so rudely cut off, putting in danger more than just herself. She didn’t have the time to park the car properly. The right back tire hit the sidewalk and she floored the gas pedal enough to make the car jump the curve and rest there like a casualty of a drunkard. The front. Each time I leave my house, even if it’s just a visit to the grocery store or coffee shop, I cry at the thought of returning home. Panic takes my body. My heart feels like a bird who beats its wings against its cage. My heavy limbs drag me back, always back. It takes every ounce of strength I have not to drive into the nearest tree, stay on my side of the road, or not go flying off a bridge. I think the worst is when people tell me that they envy me, or that they wish they had a marriage like. More

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