This Is What A Hard Day Is Like

By Kaylee

Bad days are normal. They can happen to you if your life has been pretty normal or if you’ve been to hell and back again. If you have been to this so-called, “hell,” then you know a bad day. You know a hard moment; you know 10,000 hard moments. You also know that every day is a new one. And that even though it may feel, quite literally, like the end of the world, it’s really not.

And that is why you keep picking yourself up and starting again.




You wake up one day and realize how bitter the air is and just how much you do not want to wake up. Well, since it’s too late for the whole “not waking up” thing, you dread getting out of bed. You decide not to fool yourself by thinking you’d actually be able to stay in instead of head out.

You climb out of bed and you already don’t like the day. The sun is too bright for your mood and the ground is too hard for your sore limbs. You walk three feet over to your mirror and look at the person standing there. You desperately search for a glimmer of the old person who would appear in your mirror. Instead, you are stuck with the one standing, slouched and puffy-eyed.

You rub your eyes.

Nope. Still the same.

You look at the clock and see that you have about 30 minutes to get ready. This is not a problem seeing that you don’t have anyone to look good for anymore anyway. You walk to your closet, composed mainly of black, white, grey and blue. You grab a black tank top and a faded blue t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans.

After dressing, you groom yourself so you don’t smell like human, grab your keys and leave through the front door.

Walking into class, some people seem bored, some people seem anxious and some people look hung-over. You decide you don’t care and you don’t want to talk to anyone since they are all ignorant and could not fathom the hollow gashes that decorate your torso. It’s been three months. Well, three months on Thursday, which is only six days away.

All you can do is stare emptily and pray that no one notices your vacant eyes. You look busy by holding open a book and focusing on the page number, reminding yourself to turn the page every minute or so.

“Are you alright?” says your neighbor.

You forgot to turn the page for about six minutes.

“Oh, yeah, I’m just tired.” Offer a weak smile and squinty eyes.

Hold in the waterfall that threatens to pour out of your gut. Keep in the tears. Bite your tongue until it bleeds. Taste the blood and distract your mind from the dull pain that has occupied your body.

You don’t forget to turn the pages after that.

Class ends and you gather your things: a satchel for your keys, phone, photo, a backpack for your laptop, papers, etc. Not that you actually do work anymore.

There is no energy for such meager things. There is no energy to get lunch or pick up your bottle of water. There is no energy to smile at your friends who have become sorts of ghosts. Instead, you walk to your car and drive to work.

You sit, you file, you type what is asked of you to be typed. You think.

This is where is gets dangerous. You begin to let your mind journey down the slippery slopes of the past. You wipe off the dust of a mental image, wipe off the grime of the present and place yourself in a warm memory that threatens to undo all of your hard work. It’s you and your heart, smiling at each over tea and coffee, walking to Calculus. You didn’t even have the class but you insisted on sitting through an hour of foreign theorems and languages so you could be close to your heart. You recall the cold air, the warm Chai and your heart’s breath pouring into the air making swirling shades of white. You feel your nose tingle, signaling the threat of tears.

A text yanks you back to life. You quickly wipe your cheek of the little drop that managed to escape and pull up your phone. A Facebook update. Someone wrote on your wall.

“Haven’t seen you in forever! We need to catch up. :)”

You look at the time; somehow, hours have managed to pass. You notice the stack of work you need to do and decide that tomorrow can handle it. Tomorrow, when you’re not about to fall apart by looking at a tulip or a Pok√©mon character on your newsfeed.

You tell your boss goodbye, have a good weekend.




Getting into your car, The Decemberists begin to play their tender melodies and you drive home, barely acknowledging the road. You pull up to your house. You do not get out of the car.

Instead you sit. You sit and think.

You think about how the grass is turning green and the trees are beginning to sport leaves and blossoms. You think about the 70-degree weather and how there are bees circling the little purple flowers that are scattered in your yard.

You think about how you’re stuck in the winter. You’re stuck in the ice and snow of January. Trapped in the clear box of regret and should-haves and could-haves. You should have called. You could have stopped what you were doing. You should have taken that picture even though you both looked like crap. You should have kept recording that goofy video. You would have done those things if you knew that it would be the only way you would be able to hear your heart’s voice. If there were one more picture you would be able to cling to.

But now, hindsight blinding your current vision, noises rising from your throat, liquids draining from your face, you sit and slowly waste away. Your body is racked with sobs and yells that you did not mean to yell.

This goes on until you have zero energy. You are completely empty all over again and you lift your head from the steering wheel to realize that nothing has changed and you are still without your heart.

Picking yourself up from the soft gray driver’s seat, you open the car door and walk into your house. You sit down and you open your laptop because you want to get all of this out of you and onto a Word document. Right now there is so much emotion and so much raw anger and pain that you could put any poet to shame with your real words.

Instead your mouse wanders over to your pictures and you look at your past. You let it all wash over you one more time before you realize you cannot hold yourself up anymore. You go to your room, take off all of your clothes and you climb into bed. You wish you could sleep but your eyes stay focused on the dark empty space where you know your ceiling to be.

You know that today was a bad day. You close your eyes unwillingly, yet thankfully. You welcome the numb sleep and you don’t dream a single dream, even though you keep hoping for your heart to show up one night in dreamland.

And when you wake up once more, you know but two things: You are still alive, and you are going to make it through. With bad days and good ones.

Because when you wake up, you don’t really mind the sun that morning.

9 comments:

  1. Part of a bad day is listening to The Decemberists. I don't completely disagree.

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  2. Kaylee you don't know what you've started here. I'm going to start busting off some of my old writings to help you keep things in perspective.

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  3. Yes! I want to read Glenn's high school suicide notes!

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  4. *busts through wall* Did somebody say SUICIDE NOTES???! *tips hat*

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  5. I read this and cried. In Mr. Gray's biology...I cried

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  6. I like this Kaylee! There are some real 'moments of clarity' in there that I enjoyed!! I cried in Mr. Gray's biology class too, but it was because I accidentally listened to The Decembrists!!! (I'm just kidding, I really like them!!!!)

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  7. I saw The Decemberists live once. I'm just trolling Glenn all day, every day.

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  8. I can take you to a FB wall and show you some real trolling.

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