The closet was a tall and narrow, rectangular storage area. My mother kept her clothes in there. I opened the door and slipped in. It took only a jiffy to burry myself behind the clothed racks. I sat and pulled my feet in tight and reached out to shut the door.



Once again I was in complete darkness. I loved to be in the dark. It kept me safe from the world. Here, I was allowed to reveal my thoughts and emotions. Here, I need not fear the scrutiny and judgment of the world. Here, I was accepted as I was born to be. Here, I found sanctuary. And here, I lived. Darkness was a strange comfort. It was my friend. It told no one of my angst. It told no one of my emptiness. And it told no one of my futility and helplessness.