Here Today, Gone Tomorrow

Yesterday was a good day. No, it was a GREAT day.

For the first time in weeks,  I felt grounded, safe, and empowered with unfamiliar, unbridled courage. What a welcome change. I went to therapy (where I was more open than I have been in years), volunteered in Emmett's classroom, took a long walk basking in beautiful sunshine and good company, spent quality time with my children and had a brutally honest yet heartwarming conversation with my husband. The best part is that I stayed in the moment and actually enjoyed the beauty, positivity and self-affirming thoughts cradled in my best-day-ever.

I felt so good going to bed last night.

Then I woke up.

What a difference a day makes. Admittedly, I did not sleep well serenaded by my cacophonous bedfellow and haunted with vivid, disturbing dreams. My whole day followed suit.

I awoke feeling bitter, bordering on angry at the world.  Everything and everyone chafed my already raw interior. I dug out my mask and wore it all day, floored by this new "anger" emotion, unable to express my true self in the fear that I might actually act on the desperate desire to introduce my fist to the irritating faces within my reach. This sensitivity persisted throughout the day, and I sank deeper into my projected, protective facade. The lunchtime hours eluded me all together, as I gazed upon my grounding tools a mere arms length away, unmotivated to remain in this destitute moment. Not strong enough. Craving escape.

How can so much change in 8 hours? I have spent the majority of my adult life sleep deprived and never with such radical rebound. I do not even feel like a shadow of yesterday's me. Is it possible that I am comprised of actual distinct parts? That the dissociative process has reaped more damage than I can even appreciate? Is this is why I am so desperate to discover myself? To collect all the splinters of my original being? To integrate the many hats that shape my everyday life?

I don't know. But it scares the shit out of me.