People deal with pressure in different ways. I write. So don't worry, dear readers. To quote our buddy Timon "Sometimes bad things happen, and there is nothing you can do about it" You can just try to deal with them. And this is how I deal.

I can feel my body trembling more and more with every step I take. Tears run down my cheeks, pathetic sobs escape my throat as I walk and I can do nothing to stop them. I will myself to keep on walking, force myself to take another step and another and another and another. Usually my feet carry me to this place as If they'd be thinking beings but today every step is a challenge that pains my chest. When I finally reach the little river I let myself fall down into the grass, curl into a ball and cry, I cry out all the tears that had collected inside me over all these weeks, I cry and sob uninhibited because this is my special place, the place where no one can hear or find me. As I cry, the sound of the small river echoes inside my head and I can't help but feel a little comforted by the sound. It's soothing my soul, like the caressing hand of a loving mother but at the same time I'm reminded of a quote of my favorite author, Cody McFadyen: "You can love the ocean, and many do, but don't expect it to love you back. It's too forever" and the words are manifesting into something tangible, I reach out to grasp them and hold them to my aching heart and I don't know why, wonder if I am losing my mind.

All the emotions that were locked up within me burst out and I feel a wonderful relief but at the same I have an almost unbearable desire to scream.

I hear steps behind me and I freeze because I should not be able to hear steps, because no one has ever come here before, no one can come here because this is my place, my special place.

I'm being pulled into a sitting position, against something hard, yet comfortable. Strong hands hold me close, stroke over the back of my head through my hair and although I tell everyone I hate when they touch my hair, I love it when they stroke it, it's the only thing that can and will soothe me. But nobody knows of this, I have told no one. But since when has Donatello ever needed someone to tell him something?
He pulls me even closer when I press my face into his plastron, inhale the mixture of sewer water, motor oil and burnt skin. Has he had to repair the toaster again?

His gentle voice is even more soothing as the sound of the river before, like ointment for my bruised soul: "Tell me what's wrong, little sister."

And I would, I would tell him what is wrong, I've already told some of it to Jordi, the person next to him that I trust the most and she tried to help, did everything she could to make me feel better, which I did, just for a moment, but then it all came back with twice as much force and I just need someone, I need someone to listen and hold me and tell me that it's going to be alright, even though I know it might not, never be alright. But it's too much. Too many words, too many feelings. I can't take it.

I cuddle closer to Donny, dig my fingers into his plastron and grow silent as the tears subside. For a few moments, silence settles between us and I know Donny is starting to get seriously worried. So I speak, two words that sum up everything that's amiss, everything that's desired, everything that's needed:

"Protect me."