Some days the negativity still finds a way to creep in. A thick black smoke that makes its way in through the obvious cracks.
Some days I still want to stay holed up in bed, away from the rest of the world, hiding.
Some days I know that I’m not capable of making a good decision. And yet that’s when I most want to make them — hateful, permanent, damaging decisions.
Some days I’m not able to do the things I know I need to do to feel better — about myself, my life, and the people in it. Self-help requires a certain amount of caring. And some days, even that can’t be mustered.
Some days the best I can do is just make it through.
Some days I dream about running away and leaving everything behind me.
Some days I think a little too long about the “what ifs” of my life, and look too closely at the directions that I could have gone. The ‘what-ifs’ fill my head, taunting me.
Some days turn into weeks like this, where, instead of fighting against it, I just allow it to consume me, pull me down and drown me.
And I hate myself for all of it.