It was a bad night. Even for me, it was a bad night. I didn’t sleep, I didn’t really sit still. I sat and rocked back and forth of my ever turned-on air conditioner. I rocked back and forth and tried to not think of things that came at me quicker than I was capable of handling with anything less than a blubbering cry in the dark on an empty room in the cold in the middle of the night. I got told once not to fight the panic and to let it wash over you like a wave, like trying to not tense before a fall. I can tell you that as of 5:52 AM that this is a stupid fucking way of looking at the world and I will not be trying it again.

Yes, a Xanax would have probably taken care of it, but because I was a fucking moron twenty plus years ago I am denied that psychopharmacology route and instead have to scour through old wives tales, deep breathing exercises and trying as hard as I can not to forget promises made to people. I did the counting, the multiplying, the fingers finging, the fire, the drum, music, reading, laughing to make yourself believe you are in a positive environment, cold water, warm shower and then a near scalding one after that. None of it worked.

Except for the damn alarm.

As soon as the alarm went off to tell me it was time to start the process of the day, it simply faded into a background process that, even as it is going on now, is manageable because I have a focus in getting the Ducks ready for school and the starting of the day. On the worst of the worst of these days, I call mental health days and I keep the little guys home with me. Today though, I think the sending is a good thing, the best thing in point of fact. The fa├žade I have up right now only lasts so long and when it cracks it will explosively blow out and they don’t need to be here to see that or feel any of the backlash.

So I am writing to give my hands something to do except count off imaginary sets of infinite numbers that only I know the placement of. I am listening to music to drown out as much of the cacophony of memory and self-hatred as I can. I am smiling and the Babeh Duck as he climbs Mt. Daddy over and over, a silly smile on his face. I am making faces at the Connorface who is laughing and smiling that only people who have seen it understand the power of. Elder Duck is playing video games and gearing up for a relatively short day at school. he’ll leave first, then an hour later the Babeh, then about an hour later the Connorface. Then, well, then it is a different tune to whistle I think.

I think I will write a bunch today? Or I will just curl up in a ball and watch creepy relaxing YouTube videos on restoring tools from the 17th Century to their perfect state. Maybe I will pretend to be interested in a video game, or even a book. The world is a big place with far more than a single thing to try to hide before.

Terry helps a lot as he will let me babble on and on and on, kind of like all of you do, and it helps to push the bad out, even though I always keep the heart of it to myself because no one ever needs to get the filth that is what the Darkness is made of all over themselves.

Then, well, let’s hope it isn’t a repeat of last night.

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