Comfort under a desk

It was October 2015. Each day felt like being in the eye of the storm. Court dates, witness stands, CPS visits, therapy, mummy duty, work, attorney calls/emails...work. Every aspect of my life allowed a true expression of the devastating emotions I was feeling...every aspect except work. At work I had to look like I had it all together, but what I actually felt was shame. Soon I got too ashamed to sit at my open cube. I felt like 'abused' and 'unwanted' sat glaringly on my forehead. With some luck, I found an empty office on an isolated floor. The ghostly floor gave me comfort but I still felt like a criminal at the gallows...like a phony. I had fooled the world with my dainty appearances - a far contrast to the 99 cents I felt my spouse had auctioned me off for.
There had to be somewhere else to hide. To hide the shame I felt from the spousal abuse, rejection, the unremorseful post abuse encounters.  The empty/isolated floor was not enough.  In sheer exasperation, my shame crawled under the office desk...my body followed soon after.  Sigh...relief...I finally felt covered. Protected from what I felt were glaring, judging eyes, the loud voices from the quiet walls. There I worked uninterrupted as I had a deadline to meet. Shame's urges had been quenched momentarily...there...under the embrace of an office desk.