...and then PMS slaps me in the face just as I'm turning to smile at someone.
And I spend the night slouched before the nightmares that I fight off every tired evening only I have no strength to fight today.
I sit there and cry (because learning to cry is good, dontcha know) and cruel words beat me about the ears and I swallow each one, seeing razorblades.
And I spend the night with wide terrified eyes, waiting for the clouds to clear, hoping that the clouds will clear because right now I am not happy to be awake at all. Not happy to be alive at all.
Two more steps in the wrong direction and I will hold my breath until it's gone, because no good ever comes from it. No good ever comes from me. Too much trying or I become a slug of disappointment but I'll never get it right.
Maybe I should just learn to accept that.