Bad days

     I don't know what it is. I've never been able to describe it properly.  At it's worst, I drowned in it - choking on it, feeling it thick in my lungs.  I used to keep it a secret because I barely understood it myself but I've learned that it happens more often and lasts longer if I keep quiet.  Now I call it 'my bad day' and reach out to whomever is willing to help keep me from going under.

     I've started to recognize when it comes sneaking around. At first, I can't exactly pinpoint what is wrong but I know something isn't right.  I feel too rough...like my edges are sandpaper catching on cotton.  It feels tangly and messy.  The roughness turns into a raw, overexposed feeling.  The noises are too noisy, the silence is too silent, everything is just too much of whatever it is. The world is in hyperdrive and I can't find a good spot to jump in and join.  Then comes the sneakiest part of all, the overcompensation of the rawness - I am muted.  I can laugh, smile, and participate as well as ever but it's forced from beneath what feels like layers of glue.  The muted feeling quickly becomes my bad day.

     I guess if I'm going to be completely honest and transparent here (because if not here then where) my bad days are characterized by an overwhelming sense of sadness.  I will sob rolling, hot tears and mourn for things I can't articulate.  It's no use reminding myself that nothing is actually wrong; I'll just cry all the more thinking I must be really messed up to feel so sad when everything is okay.

     Luckily, mercifully, thankfully I manage to put away my pride and reach out to those I trust the most.  Some of them show up in person, physically guiding me out of the sadness until it sheds completely and I can walk without feeling it's heavy weight.  Some of them send texts of encouragement, assuring me that I'm not alone or broken.  Each of them remind me that if I hang on just a little longer the bad day will pass, as it always does.