Habits

The Bad Days

I do my best to seem okay. I try to be a good person, and I think I succeed, mostly. I slip up sometimes, I admit. It's hard not to. It's hard to control the constant anger that's brewing inside of me, the pure rage and emotion. But I suck it up, if not for the kids, but for my own well-being.

In some sick way, I can convince myself that I'm not a horrible person if I can ignore the rage. But the closer and closer I get to snapping, it's all I can think about.

Until that anger turns into pure, indiscriminate sorrow. Or depression, I suppose is a better word for it.

I've switched to one-on-one therapy. A support group for teen trauma survivors was nice, but I wasn't getting the help I needed. My therapist says when I get depressed, I fall victim to executive dysfunction.

I don't think I'm depressed. I think I'm tired. But she might know more about me than I do, so I do my best to listen to her.

I have good days. Days where I forget about the mess my life is, days where I can let my guard down and not have to worry about anything because I'm not angry. I'm not angry or sad, I'm just happy and I can be free to make good decisions and just be myself.

But I have bad days. And I've found it's better to just lie in bed, and stay there. Riding out the wave alone is hard, but at least I'm not screwing things up. That's the last thing I need.

~~~

Today was a bad day. I woke up and instantly knew. I felt it in my chest, the way it ached. I could tell from the moment I sat up in bed, the way I just felt... bad.

I wanted to cry immediately. But I knew crying was for when people left. Or late into night when everyone was asleep. It was 7am now, meaning that Webby was up and ready, and the boys would be getting up in an hour- or so. Huey would, at least. Dewey's sleep schedule is unpredictable, to say the least, and Louie might not wake up until 2pm.

Scrooge may as well be at work already. Not that I was complaining. He's too loud in the morning.

Mrs. Beakley was probably preparing breakfast and a menu for the day. I felt too sick to eat or drink anything. Not physically sick, just... I don't know. I just don't feel good.

I stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. I could go back to sleep. Perhaps pass the time through slumber. Catch up on the sleep I missed. Or have been missing. It's hard to get a goodnight's sleep anymore.

Yeah. That sounds nice.

I laid back down into my bed, and snuggled under the covers. I turned to the other side. I felt my eyes begin to droop, and in turn I began to drift off into sleep.

~~~

"Unca Scrooge, pleeeeeaaaase?" I pleaded, doing my best teary eyes.

This was the one time that Uncle Scrooge would ever be forced to go to the store, and I knew I had to take advantage of it. Mom and Uncle Donald were on an adventure, 22 had to "attend to familial matters," whatever that means, and Duckworth had a doctor's appointment. Besides, I really, really wanted the glow-y stars!

"Listen here, Lassie! I told you, we were only here for the bare necessities! I will not waste any money on a capitalistic contraption meant to force parents into spending more money!" He stated, firmly.

I didn't know what capitalistic meant, but I was too worried about the stars. "But they glow! In the dark! Like real stars!"

"If ye wanted to see real, glowing stars, you should just come with me on an adventure, lass," He shot back.