Even before my eyes were fully unglued, before I dragged my tired butt out of bed, I prayed. I prayed because the night before I had cried myself to sleep yet again. Not just a silent tear that accidentally slips out, no, sobbing, the cathartic tears of a heart that hurts. A heart that is bruised again.
So I prayed. I prayed for strength, and I prayed for peace. But I wasn’t confident it would happen. After all, last night hurt so much.
So I got out of bed, did a little butt wiggle, skipped to my iPod, and put on some Christian music, did another butt wiggle, and started getting ready for my day. I put on a pink shirt because pink is my favorite color and it’s happy. I put on pretty makeup and decided very simply that I have pretty makeup on today; therefore, I cannot cry.
And some days that’s just how it goes. I used to hate people who would tell me that your mood was a conscious choice. I didn’t believe it. And, to be honest, I’m not sure I still believe. But today, and only today, cause I can’t look at tomorrow and yesterday’s shit is in yesterday, so today, I made a choice not to cry. The tears still threaten but then I put a smile and do another butt wiggle to my music because damn it, I have pretty makeup on, and I’m not going to cry.
It’s been a few hours since I wrote the above. I made it throughout the day without a single tear. The makeup is still pretty. The chaos in my head has threatened to boil over all day, but I just pasted that smile on, kept my mouth talking, and my hands busy, and kept going. But now it’s night. And nights are always hardest. Nighttime always seems so sad. The darkness hits the wounds and it stings.
So I made it through the day without a tear because I had pretty makeup on. But now it’s nighttime, and all bets are off because there is no more makeup to keep pretty . . .