Click.
I read the first comment, causing words to swim in my head, making me dizzy while my face flushed.
Click.
I read the next comment, rage building from my toes and up into my fingers.
Clickity-click.
I type a rebuttal. I copy a link. I highlight it all and delete.
Clicking-click.
I type a different rebuttal, copy different links. I highlight it all again and delete again.
Ring.
My sister calls, and after helping her solve her problem, I tell her mine, only neither of us can solve my problem.
Click.
I open a link on a completely different topic to try and shift my focus, only to replace the rage with pessimism.
Click.
I open a different link and the pessimism moves to anxiety, as it appears all my life choices, from what I eat and drink to how I spend some of my free time is literally killing me.
Slam.
I close my laptop. In twelve hours I have to be a face of hope and optimism for over a hundred teenagers, a pillar of strength that doesn’t crumple at the opinions of the loud and ornery.
I do what is within my control. I write. I read poetry. I log out of the social media and I dig into any remaining reserve of hope I have left.
It’s still there.
