Some days are so bad.

I had to take Tylenol my face hurt so bad.  My forehead and sinuses were aching from the crying.  Some days I am amazed at how “good” I’m doing, meaning how I can find satisfaction in parts of my day.  Not happiness, but satisfaction.  I spent the weekend gardening and cleaning like a madwoman while Chris was off at a bachelor party and at the end of each day, I felt satisfied, productive.  I went to work and maybe made it through a day without tears.  And then there are the bad days.

I woke up from a dream that was awful.  I was trapped in a house with a potential killer and was trying to signal to those outside to call 911.  Rescue me.

When I woke up I was having a bad morning, for many reason.  It was bad enough that I didn’t want to get out of bed.  I actually yearned to go back to sleep, even if it meant re-entering that dream.  Somehow that felt more appealing than my reality.  In the book I’m reading right now, the author talks of her brother who developed Bell’s Palsy.  She tries to imagine what it’s like to wake up every day and in the fuzzy haze of near-sleep think everything is normal and then stumbling into the bathroom, seeing half your face paralyzed and reality hitting like a brick.  That is my everyday.  Half my life is paralyzed.

A friend called me at one point during the day and she could hear the pain behind the fake calmness I was trying to put on.  She asked what was going on.  I didn’t want to talk about it, so I simply said, “I have good days and I have bad days.”

Some days are so bad.


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