Some days everything is wrong.

My insides go from feeling puffy and painful to having no feeling at all. I wrap myself in a blanket of numbness, and even though I have many, many reasons to ache in the deepest pit of my gut, I almost can’t remember what exactly has brought about this particular day’s grief.

Surely, surely it is many things, and each silent theft of peace leaves a tiny hole until suddenly I am split wide, insides dark with blood spilling out for all to see. I see a movie and cry. The movie is a comedy. I spend $7.25 to weep in the dark, body in emotional overflow, and nothing concrete on my mind. I buy sewing tools and can barely walk through the isles. I spend twenty minutes staring at a display rack of something, but couldn’t tell you what it is. The money I spend is a gift, and there should be happiness attached, not this hollowness.

I am overwhelmed for honest reasons, and yet mad as hell at myself for feeling this way. I am not forgiving of today’s inability to cope. I am mad that I am in situations that require coping, that rob me of my peace of mind when I have done so little to be deserving of it. I am angry that these things are big enough to require my full attention, and cannot always be compartmentalized safely into a little box that I choose to open. Sometimes Pandora is in control, and I am left to pick up the pieces.

I cry. And then I don’t. I create new projects. I refocus, even though it takes every bit of me to do so. I pick up the bits of insanity and cram them into their place. They go unwillingly because they are real demons that need dealing with, but damn it all, they will go for today.