Sam knew keeping her feelings bottled up was something she always did whenever she developed new feelings she couldn't quite pinpoint. And it always bothered her not being able to explain herself because most of the time, Sam was a straight forward, 'tell it like it is' kind of person. She didn't like not being able to express herself, and the only way she knew how was violence.

Punching walls, Freddie, biting things, it was all familiar ground when it came to that, but was an uncharted territory, having someone to talk to, if they only came up to her first and asked, and pushing to know even after she's denied it, because they can read her like no one else. And that's how she hoped it would happen with Carly, all her feelings pouring out and Carly nodding and telling her she gets it. She feels the same way. But it seemed as if that would never happen.

After a rough school year, summer seemed like the perfect escape from the stressors that were bringing on only a few of her feelings. Ever since March, when her anxiety, though she didn't know what it was called, first started to surface, she had been trying to keep it to herself, bottling up her feelings as if no one would really understand. But after being introduced to the school psychologist, Mrs. MacSweeney, she found comfort in knowing someone was there to listen and actually cared, rather than all the guy therapists who had seen her only for her mom.

On a particularly harder day, when Sam felt like she couldn't keep it together, Sam had thought of going to the library office where Mrs. MacSweeny resided. But the thought of having to pass through the library to get to her office made Sam reluctant to go, but she did.

As she slowly passes the library, she glares inside of the small rectangular window to see inside. A light is on, and the door is half open, signaling that there's still someone here. Sam sighs, exhaling heavily as she approaches the door cautiously, grabbing the metal handle and staring inside.

Her palms were clammy, but felt cold from the cool metal handle of the library door. She took a deep breath, moving the handle down and pushing open the door, wincing at the loud sound of the door creaking open.

Sam looked down as she walked in, avoiding any possible stares or attention walking in would give her, but when she looked up and glanced around, she noticed most of the kids had their head buried deep into their books or there homework, and others were having quiet conversations with each other. Except for a few kids who glanced up from their work, most did not acknowledge Sam entering the library. She sighed a breath of relief.

She fixed her attention straight ahead, approaching the door of the psychologist's office. Sam lightly knocked three brief times, then saw the small, dark haired lady look up from her computer, and Sam lit up, knowing that she was in fact, there.

"Hey Sam!" Mrs. MacSweeney exclaimed in the same, cheerful voice she was always greeted with.

Sam walked in and stood in front of Mrs. McSweeney's desk, waiting quietly in hopes that she'd ask 'what's up?' and motion her to sit. And she did, making Sam feel somewhat more secure.

Sam played with her hands, cupping them together and giving them a squeeze, repeating the motion various times, and in different ways, before looking back up, and noticing the sweet and petite lady watching. Sam cleared her throat anxiously, and sought for the right words to say. 'Courage Sam, have courage.' She would tell herself, reminding her of the words her mother once said when walking her through a dark neighborhood on one frigid winter evening, at a mere seven years old.

Sam vividly remembered the frosty air and nippy winds, and she struggled to keep her hood over her head as her mother pulled her through the streets, teaching her how to be strong, even in the face of fear. At the earliest hours of that morning, she watched snow swirl in the street lights, causing her to feel like she was in a snowglobe, rather than the creepy neighborhood. And she remembered every word of her mom's message.

After that night, when her mother went back to being herself, Sam remembered how to have courage, and ever since had felt like she's been off on her own. Comedy and toughness was her scapegoat. It made her feel like she was less weak and more like someone else. That was the way she was raised and has always been; Independent.

It was then, very unlike herself, when she let the tears streak her face, running down in a stream, rather than rolling drops, dripping one at a time. She looked down, hiding her face in shame and embarrassment, but it was only comfort she seeked, not advice. The blonde had hoped with all her heart that Mrs. M would tell her that she was perfectly normal. That it was okay to cry or some other cliche. But it was advice that the young teacher would give her, and words of encouragement.

"Do you know what I think?" She had asked.

Sam looked away, unable to answer.

"I think it takes one heck of a person to do what you do. To be able to get up and still come to school, even after what you go through. That's huge for you! I think you don't give yourself enough credit. What you do, or did, is showing that you have what it takes to not let your worries or anxiety rule your life. Basically when you made the choice to get up and face life, you said 'Forget you!'. And that shows that you're tougher than you give yourself credit for." She consoles her.

Sam blushes, feeling somewhat better, but not perfectly okay. But she knew that if she let anxiety rule her life, even though it felt out of control, that it couldn't get better. But it was not in her hands to control or change. She needed to give it up. Positive thinking and prayers is what she needed. It was in God's hands now, and even though she hadn't heard from her mother in a while, she still knew it to be true.

Sam left with a new hop in her step, and though she knew she still felt as though she was being dragged down, Mrs. MacSweeney was exactly who she needed to see that day.