Every once in a while the chatter behind my eyes will quiet, the gnawing in my stomach will stop.
I live for the easy days… when breathing is crisp, not weighty, and the haze lifts briefly, releasing my mind and muscles from the taut state I’ve grown accustomed to.
There’s something to be said for easy days because they aren’t necessarily good days ; for instance, I may experience one good day every two weeks, a single day where I feel like a happy, hopeful part of society – that leaves me with thirteen days. Seven to ten of those days, depending on the season and other miscellaneous circumstances, are the dark days, when I take the form of a high functioning husk, doing nothing more than what the body needs to get by. The remainder of those days are easy days – they are a soft in between of prickling anxiety/depression and electric happiness, days where I can lay in bed, not because I have to but because I want to – where I can enjoy doing things without the guilt associated – where I can ease in and out of the routine without worrying about the impending catastrophe that inevitably waits tomorrow or the next day.
Yes, I live for the easy days.