I’m having an angry sort of day. I don’t feel very friendly or optimistic about anything. there’s a frog encased in a tiny plastic prison on my counter, a dead bird in a shoebox in the living room. There’s chores to forsake and middle school principals to tell off, teachers to chew out and an entire education department to disagree with. I feel angry about starting this blog because it’s just another thing to be depressed about when no one ever reads it! I want to growl and hiss. I suppose that’s the primitive part of me, the animal instinct that I don’t believe we evolved from. I’m just mad at the world, and all I want to do is curl up in my bed and sleep and wallow and feel hopeless.
I don’t want to fill out that worksheet my therapist gave me about twisted thoughts and distorted emotions, it doesn’t help on days like this. it only helps on the good days when I am fairly mentally sane. and I’ve been thinking about, what i will say tomorrow to her when she asks, when I sit on her couch and I can’t say I’m “good” but I’m too ashamed to sit there and cry like a weak little bird with a broken wing.
The bird was almost ok, after a night of rest in it’s little shoebox cage. It survived the crash into the window, it was even sitting up this morning and apparently, felt good enough to fly, but it wasn’t good enough to fly, because when it did, in eagerness it crashed again, to its immediate death this time. it lie there on the floor helpless, lifeless and wrong. it should have filled out that worksheet. I guess cages are important for broken birds and criminals and people like me who think they are ready to fly. I hear its friends out there, healthy, little birds, happily chirping away, with no particular distorted thoughts, or poor vision.