It’s Just A Bad Day, Not A Bad Life
By Becca Martin
I tell myself over and over it’s just a bad day, a bad week, a bad month but it’s not a bad life. I tell myself that as I’m sitting in traffic, as I’m looking in my bathroom mirror on the verge of tears, as I’m constantly trying to lower my heart rate from the overwhelming stress I’m feeling.
I want so badly to believe things will work out for the best but it doesn’t feel like it sometimes. It feels like a complicated mess and disaster that’s never going to end. It feels like I’m drowning in my own decisions and just letting the stress consume me as I’m sitting on the empty living room floor eating a tub of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream because I’m feeling sorry for myself.
I just want to give up, part of me just wants to quit because as they say, when it rains it pours, and it’s fucking pouring.
I don’t know when it’ll get better, or how, but I know I have to stay hopeful. I know I have to cling to that hope because without hope there’s nothing. Without hope it doesn’t get better.
I know it’s not a bad life — I know I have people who love me and support me and want me to do well. I know I have a kickass job. I know I have enough money to eat lunch and sit in coffee shops and be able to buy a $2 — $5 coffee every day because the internet in my house is broken. I know…
