THOSE DAYS

20th of April 2017

Dear Anyone,

Perhaps today is one of Those Days-

When you'd rather stay in bed because your head won't lift off your tear-stained pillow; or if otherwise, it does in a rather restrained way, hung and hovering. Those Days when you fall back into the shelter of your sheets, wait for the first silk of sunray sift through your window and lull you back to sleep, thus when you wake a dozen more hours later, it's way past dusk. Those Days when food and loving lose its enticement, when seconds are bleak, frozen years, or even scores- when life's meaning slips into darkness where you suppose it belongs.

You've been through Those Days quite a number of times before. And, heaven knows, you have wondered why. Sometimes you tell yourself it's the monotony of the zombie-inducing, fluctuating amber lightbulbs at the office, where everybody either calls you a fantastic friend-of-all or a lazy miser. Sometimes it's the silent loathing towards your mother, or father, or a grandparent, or older sister-slash-guardian, who hated your guts at college for taking fine arts or philosophy and without hesitation would rub It in your face that ha! they were right, of course, you'll be broke all your life! Sometimes it's the fury or the guilt upon bumping into an almost-lover at the grocery store, hand in hand with another human entity entirely foreign to you, delightedly asking how you've been, and you lie and say you're fine. Sometimes it's simply the hot weather or the rain, or good ol' derisive insomnia, or a huge fly who slipped through the tear on your screen door and wouldn't leave your cup of coffee alone. Yet at times it's the dismal disillusionment brought about the fact that the Universe would eventually succumb to the Dark Era and everything you can perceive will reach its ultimate finality of inexistence.

There could be endless things. Most of the time it's a meld of all. At least, nothing's distinct as a dot of black ink on a smooth, ivory sheet of paper; the sadness you feel is but a swirl of mist mostly aroused by frustration, fear, and insecurity. You have come to abhor it. Before, that is. You've long lost your last damn to give.

My friend, let my words be gentle and kind- patient; allow me to remind: letting yourself to be not okay is okay.

So today, ditch it. Whatever it is, ditch it. It's tough, yes; possibly inane. But do it. Pause before you break the last part of you that can. I promise not that you will instantly feel better; but time will eventually drag itself onwards, and soon enough you're a day closer to joy's actuality.

So go.

Take a break from people who don't understand. Spend your time alone at home if you prefer (but never trust yourself with sharp things, and ropes, and pills). Cook your favorite oat porridge or whole grain pasta, and download and watch your favorite comedy. Recite from Dahl or Herriot, and listen to Owl City. Take a cold shower (or if the weather's rather damp, a warm one.) Wear a lonesome, over-sized shirt, or better yet, your birthday suit, then change your sheets and breathe in the ambrosial scent of the conditioner.

Scream into your pillow if you feel like it.

Cry on it.

If tears won't flow, call a friend. But not just any human who passes as a 'companion.' Not simply someone who's had Those Days as well; rather someone who knows or acknowledges its ordonnance (which is an important thing to take note of as you'll need someone who will not bombard you with advices that never work: 'You're not trying hard enough to be okay.' 'You've begun to be a dramatist.' 'Too whiny, my friend. I'm growing weary of listening.' 'You're plain unthankful.' 'Get a grip.') If you fancy, you may even drop by my place. (#7 Porceystrongwill St., Facebook Ave.- situated between the vintage bookshop and the café that sells yema croissants.) We'll paint flowers and hope, and read plays aloud, and bake (and burn?) ratatouille, and count your blessings (but never compare them with the less fortunate ones, which, mind you, is nothing but complete bull)- whatever that can help ease and soothe.

I shall try, but the most I can offer is a bandage. To be honest, all of us can only offer such. Perhaps only in different sizes, but fleeting aids all the same nevertheless. So if you need the bigger ones, visit the professional.

Don't be shy. Or embarrassed.

And remember: after your appointments and therapies and medications, the dawn might still feel distant, and truth be told, it really might be.

When all else fails, let your knees beat themselves black and blue-may your heart give ear to His voice ringing loud in the silence, in history of hypothetical coincidence, in dark ages of uncertain hope. You've seen enough of the world that by now you know believing is not enough; believing by itself doesn't work. I would agree for faith is something to receive. The troubled mind is not far from a blind eye or a limp leg; His own blood has been shed for you, and miracles are indeed still possible.

Call His name.

He listens to and answers a humble heart.

Dear Anyone, perhaps today is one of Those Days, and it matters not if you're temporarily inept at flashing a genuine smile; but take heed, dearest Anyone, just think about it: today is one of Those Days-

But perhaps tomorrow isn't.

With much measured affection,

Lady P. Strongwill