Most of the time I’m pretty happy with my life. Most of the time, I feel like I’m doing what I want, living a life that I love. Most of the time things are good.
And then there are days like today, when my life feels lacking, when all I want is to find the first somebody, to take that first deep breath out, relax into their arms, and think Okay.
All this waiting and hoping and wishing for the first one to appear, for us to meet, for it to be time. It feels like I’m paying a toll. It feels like this crummy day will be made up sometime in the future with a spectacular moment or an awesome event or just simple happy times with a person I love.
I hate paying the toll.
When I have days like this, I know whatever emotions or reactions to situations I have are not really me. They are the hyper-me, the cliche me, the to-the-nth-degree me. I cry easier. Even the slightest advice or reprimand feels edged, grates harder, cuts deeper. I am quick to anger, easily annoyed, and just as rushed to turn fallen, gone, lost.
I have to be very careful on these days. I make no major decisions. It’s harder to let things go or forget simple mistakes. These days are the ones where I really have to work on Forgiveness.
I don’t feel sexy. I don’t feel wanted. During most of the day, I will feel like shit. I’ll be quieter than normal, won’t attempt to engage in conversation. It will be hard for me to smile. If one does cross my lips, it will feel fake.
I don’t have these days often, maybe once every few months. So, about four to six times a year, for a day, I feel like shit. I am paying the toll.
On these days, I don’t appreciate the multitude of friends I have. I can’t remember all the fun events I’ve been to, the amazing scenes I’ve participated in, the memories of all the good in my life. On these days, at any moment, I am a breath away from crying. I’m glad I don’t have a lot of these days.
Now, at twenty-eight, I can tell pretty quickly when they are happening. It usually takes something small and I’ll feel it, that turn, the switch flipped. I take a deep breath, let the first few tears stream down, quickly wipe them away, and go about my day.
I know a lot of my life, for those twenty-four hours, will be lived in my head. I harden myself to Green Eyes. I try not to let despair engulf me. I take deep breaths. I try to get by.
And I know, come the next day, I will feel better. I will be less pessimistic. I will talk to my roommates or exercise or listen to the right kind of music (there is so much music I cannot listen to today, it’s kind of ridiculous). I will vent (as per this entry). By this time tomorrow, I will feel better.
Deep breath out. Blink back tears. Get through today.
PS. I wrote this during lunch. It’s now bedtime. I talked to SkinnyBitch. We made dinner together. We drank white wine. We watched Doctor Who and Archer. I feel better. Toll paid.
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