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☽✧ ＷＯＯＹＯＵＮＧ ✧☾
A month later, and I was starting to feel like a stranger in my own skin. Every little thing seemed to irritate me lately, like I was a tightly wound spring just waiting to snap. I couldn't focus, I was exhausted, and it felt as if my emotions were turned up so high that even the smallest problem felt monumental.
Today, the kitchen was my battlefield. I'd shuffled through the cabinets, reorganizing them for the third time this week, only to realize halfway through that I couldn't remember where anything went. The fog of "pregnancy brain," as San liked to call it, was clouding my thoughts more than ever. I'd start one task, only to get distracted halfway through, bouncing from one thing to the next without finishing a single one.
In an attempt to at least feel productive, I grabbed a cloth and started wiping down the counters, focusing so hard on scrubbing a perfectly clean mug that I didn't even notice my elbow inching closer to the edge of the counter. My eyes drifted to the beautiful bouquet of roses San had surprised me with yesterday. Normally, the sight of fresh flowers from him would brighten my day, but right now, everything—even their bright, perfect petals—felt like they were mocking me, as if they were in on my own frustrations.
With a sigh, I reached for another cloth to wipe up an invisible smudge. My arm moved too quickly, and in a single, dreadful moment, my elbow struck the vase. I could only watch in horror as it wobbled, teetered, and then crashed to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces across the tile. The roses lay crumpled among the shards, water seeping into the cracks, the entire arrangement now just a mess of broken glass and wilting petals.
For a long second, I just stood there, frozen, staring at the chaotic mess on the floor. My chest tightened, and a wave of frustration, sadness, and guilt hit me all at once. I felt like I was standing in the middle of a storm, the weight of every little frustration and every inexplicable mood swing pouring down on me.
"Oh, just perfect," I muttered to myself, my voice thick with the tears that had begun to prick at the corners of my eyes. "Of course."
I crouched down, my hands trembling as I tried to pick up the larger pieces of glass. The shards slipped through my fingers as I struggled to keep my hands steady, but it was no use. The tears began to fall faster, blurring my vision as I dropped a piece of glass back onto the floor. I felt ridiculous, crying over a broken vase, yet the tears wouldn't stop, and the feeling of helplessness only deepened.
"Why can't I just get anything right?" I whispered, my voice barely audible as I choked back a sob.
I stayed crouched on the kitchen floor, feeling as shattered as the glass scattered around me. It wasn't just the vase, or the roses, or even the chaos of the past few weeks—it was everything. The uncertainty, the constant feeling that I was somehow doing everything wrong, the irritability that seemed to be lurking in every corner of my mind. I couldn't escape it, no matter how hard I tried to push it away.
