I spent yesterday hating most of my life. Crying in the break room and crying when I ought to have been trying to sleep. All of that idiocy.
Today wasn’t so bad though. I was feeling kind of good. Until a few minutes ago.
I think something bad happened, but I don’t know what, and I don’t know if it’s my fault and I have no way to find out until tomorrow. Maybe. Unless I unknowingly did something so bad that I don’t deserve to be spoken to.
I begin to detest my body’s reaction to what could potentially be bad news…because I can’t do anything about it one way or the other, and now I’m stuck feeling sick with—what? Anxiety? Fear?
I don’t understand what’s happened…and apparently I’m not the only one gathering that I did something wrong. People who don’t even know me seem to think that, too, now.
I don’t know what I did…
I don’t understand.
I guess it’s what I get for allowing myself to think that the bit about my being a monster was just a story. It must be true, after all.
Whether it matters or not, I’m sorry.