Letters for Muscles
March 8
My Dearest Muscles,
Five days without you. I wish people would stop asking me if I’m okay.
I know they’re just trying to be polite, but they’re forcing me to lie when it’s obvious that I’m not. I know they don’t really want to hear how awful I’m feeling.
Ironically, the people closest to me know I’m not okay but can tell when the day’s really bad. Like Avery. He seems to judge the degree of sadness I’m at for the day, or he’ll ask how I am. And he’s not afraid to hear the honest reply. Or see the tears.
Things just seem so hopeless with you here. Some days suck, and others just rain down on me in a torrential sort of despair. It only ever gets worse.
I didn’t sleep well, since I keep thinking about you all night. I woke up feeling incredibly average today.
Every time I think I’ve hit rock bottom, the floor gives way to an entirely new circle of hell waiting beneath.
I know I’ve always been the optimist, but after nearly nineteen years of various trials, I’m starting to see that the glass is half-empty. I’m starting to think that if I just expect the worst each day, I’ll be fine or perhaps even pleased with what life hands me.
I miss you. You’d know how to fix this.
Love you,
Blondie
Five days without you. I wish people would stop asking me if I’m okay.
I know they’re just trying to be polite, but they’re forcing me to lie when it’s obvious that I’m not. I know they don’t really want to hear how awful I’m feeling.
Ironically, the people closest to me know I’m not okay but can tell when the day’s really bad. Like Avery. He seems to judge the degree of sadness I’m at for the day, or he’ll ask how I am. And he’s not afraid to hear the honest reply. Or see the tears.
Things just seem so hopeless with you here. Some days suck, and others just rain down on me in a torrential sort of despair. It only ever gets worse.
I didn’t sleep well, since I keep thinking about you all night. I woke up feeling incredibly average today.
Every time I think I’ve hit rock bottom, the floor gives way to an entirely new circle of hell waiting beneath.
I know I’ve always been the optimist, but after nearly nineteen years of various trials, I’m starting to see that the glass is half-empty. I’m starting to think that if I just expect the worst each day, I’ll be fine or perhaps even pleased with what life hands me.
I miss you. You’d know how to fix this.
Love you,
Blondie