It's December... my God it's December.
And I cannot stop feeling sad: More like Doomsember.
It started this Sunday. My mother thought it was PMS. It wasn't. I was hoping it would be PMS too, actually, I wish I could explain this away with something as simple as that.
But I can't. I've been dreaming. And waking up. And crying.
I believe there are two kinds of crying: the good cry, the one that makes you feel all better and you even venture to laugh at yourself by the end of it. And the bad cry... the kind that leaves you so empty after you're done that you want to cry some more so you can make sure it's all out of your system. It's the cry that you want to turn into a good cry. But it creeps up on you, gives you a headache, and leaves a dull ache on your chest. It threatens to come out any time of the day...Every time I have a conversation with a normal person without letting the tears come out is a miracle.
The bad cry has become a routine this week, I'm sorry to report. Mornings, evenings, on the way to work, on the way back from work.. I look up at the darkening sky and the half baked moon and plead it to take me to it... "Make me fly." I whisper. Nothing happens. I don't know if I'm going to get through this. It looks bleak.
It's amazing how much pain I can feel without breaking into the pieces that I know I'm already in. I'm already in pieces and my body won't let me be pieces. That's the real problem. Let me be pieces, God. Let me float away.
I can't bear the pressure of looking whole anymore.