Morning: the best part of the day my therapist said, “just get your mornings right”.
So the next day I wake up and step out of my bed. Hey, my therapist told me this could cure me. I see the sun rays shining through my eye lashes. That’s saying something because my eye lashes are short. I don’t have to force myself to drink water and get out because I want to see her proven right. Please be right.
I take my yoga mat and AirPods, I go downstairs and feel the gentle breeze displacing my bangs. My bangs that I had cut short and uneven in rage. My bangs that I had tried to force into the high bun. The high bun that was pulling on the strands of my hair, threatening to pull back my hairline.
I take a moment to appreciate the weather and the sky. Goddamn… Okay, done.
I start stretching. My PE teacher told me to hold every static stretch for 15 seconds, but I find myself too restless and impatient as I fly from one pose to another in mere seconds. Sorry.
Let’s exercise. Build those abs again. Grow that—as they say it—booty.
Three minutes into the workout… Oh, I see flashes. I see stars before my eyes. My head spins. I see blackness. But I can feel the sun on my skin. Why is it dark? Stop playing dumb. You skip meals all the time. You survive on chocolates and milk. What did you expect would happen? Sorry.
I promise I’ll do better now. I’ve taken the first step already, look, I’m out of the bed in the morning.
I feel something. Stop feeling.
As nighttime rolls in, I have crossed off no tasks from my list. I have only wasted time.
“Hey, do you want to drink tonight?”
Let’s drink tonight. So I drink. From drowning in sadness to drowning my sadness in vodka, there must be a beauty in this that my therapist can appreciate. Right?
But I find sadness alive and thriving at the bottom of my glass.