So happiness shouldn't last.
There should be balance between the light and the heavy metals in our minds.
But I just don't see how one day of happiness equated to several days of saddness.
The ratio just seems a bit too off.
I'm so sick of having a second of being okay
to an instant antonym that I have no uphill from.
I don't particularly care for the whole "Everything gets better" vibe,
because not everything is meant to be better as not everything is meant to be fixed.
I am not meant to be fixed because I am not truly broken yet.
Things could of course get so much worse but quite frankly,
I'm feeling pretty the worst at the moment.
I think the most massive part of being kicked down from a high
is when it all hits you in public.
As much as I love the penetrating stares,
the bathroom looks like a comforting place.
The paper towels feel pretty rough but they still absorb all that I need them to.
Come to think of it,
one could make a decent friend in the paper towel machine.
The perfect absorber of tears.
Toilet paper works almost as well,
but like me it's just a little softer,
comes apart a little easier.
The paper towel dispenser tends to get a little stuck on itself.
It breaks a little more everytime.
That paper towel dispenser needs a repairman almost like I occasionally do.
Needing that help should't be shamed,
for not all repairmen are able to fix the root of the problem,
but the majority of them are swiftly able to relieve the symptom.
The toilet getting clogged is mundane,
as is the upchuck after the stopping.
Before I accept my reward for "Teariest of the Year",
I would like to give my thanks to the sink.
I commend the cool flushing of my cheeks as
my tears stream down at the same rate.
As much as I wish that the time I spent in there was less than the majority of my time,
I've found myself to be almost productive in there.
The only bang and clatter that aren't in my mind are in the shutting of doors.
The slight dripping of he sinks don't bother me in the way that it would drive others insane.
It's not a bad place to be.
After all, it's a place of rest.
I know that the natural noises of the outside world are healthy,
but sometimes I'd much perfer the artificial silence of the
bricked up tile walls and nonchalant strangers.
I don't try to think about the parts of my life that prove to be a bother,
but I don't need to think about them too seriously either.
All of it just seems to fall.
I just need to feel what my body chooses and deal with it.
It's strange, the way that once you ponder the present bad news,
the old looks like a new tennis ball.
I think I knew that it was going to take longer than average to pass,
but frankly, I wish that the non-clogged toilets could
help me excrete the worse thoughts from my mind.
After being told that you suck in so many different ways,
it's difficult to resist the thought that life is giving you your own new-and-improved swirlie.
So thank you,
dear public restrooms,
for giving my the rest that I couldn't even find in an arrest.
Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace.