It's been grey lately - it gets like that sometimes. Where everything seems a mistake - where it seems the path is a treadmill, or a maze, looping back on itself. When I open my mouth, toads and snakes fly out, startling the people who love me. My shoulders hunch and my eyes stay on the ground. Why not? the skies are grey.
I can write a list of reasons why it feels like this, but in the end, it doesn't matter. All that matters is making it stop - finding the right way out of the maze. Is deconstruction the key? Spring greens? A long hot bath? A short harsh drunk? I count my blessings into the triple digits, telling beads and muttering prayers.
I know all the signs, after all these years. I get better at self defense, better at the small spells designed to stave off the complete slide into black. I remember that abyss, the cold kiss on the nape of my neck, the lists I made of loving friends who would care for my daughter, miles walked in numbing winter winds to find the strength to piece together the tattered remains of a life shredded by loss.
Looking for the words to describe it feels melodramatic. I want to be better than this, stronger than this. I want to deny, deny, deny. Every day I promise to be better than I feel.
