“You sure woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”
I can hear my grandmother’s words as plain as day. She’d tell me this (when I lived with her from ages 15 to 21) when I’d wake up in a foul mood. Which was often. I’d feel absolutely miserable, like I hated the world and wanted no part of it. Like I wanted to cease to exist. And not understanding these feelings would piss me off greatly on top of it.
When I felt like this, I’d often go in silent mode to keep from biting off anyone’s head with my words. I could go days without speaking to anyone at school beyond a few mumbled words. I’d isolate myself from my friends (and I use the word “friends” loosely), and in most classes, a quiet student was a good student, so no problem there.
Care to guess which side of the bed I woke up on this morning? Sam has already asked me half a dozen times what’s wrong and what he can do to help.
My answer: nothing. Because I don’t know.
It’s so fucking frustrating to suddenly feel empty and angry at the world at the same time for no obvious reason. After days of feeling quite normal and good, at that.
Maybe it’s just the random bad day everyone is prone to having. Maybe it’s due to being cooped up for a few days. (As introverted as I can be, I hate not leaving the house for more than one day.) Maybe it’s the two weeks of rain having an effect. Maybe it’s the several nights of what seems like constant nightmares screwing with me. Maybe it’s all or none of the above.
All I know is that the next time I feel inclined to write a post (which is gone now since it seems like such a joke) about having a stretch of good days, I’ll find something else to write about, as it seems every time I do, I jinx the hell out of myself.
*fingers crossed for a better tomorrow*