Some days

Some days I don't want to be brave. I don't want to fight the good fight and I don't want to see the best in people.
Some days I want to kick, scream, spit and curse my way through life and hole up in my room all by myself.

Some days I want to eat whatever I want and not constantly be seeing my big fat cheeks bobbing up and down out of the corner of my eye. Some days I wish it was as easy as slicing the rolls off of me.
Some days it's really rough inside my head because I'm so cruel and unwilling to see reason when it comes to my own flaws. Some days I talk myself to the edge of a cliff with all the hate speech I slop over my heart.

Some days I feel so far from the girl I want to be that I can't even see her anymore. On those some days I'm so overwhelmed that I just shut down, shut up, and shut myself off from those that can speak to who I truly am.
Some days I feel so tempted by the girl I used to be. The angry sad girl that spent so much time angry she didn't know she was so sad. Some days.

On those some days I walk around like nothing is wrong, because as much as I know for a fact it isn't true some days I feel attempting to be perfect and flawless will almost make it true. Some days I feel the plastic smile straining to the breaking point and I just don't know how to get out of this pattern.
Some days I duck, joke, demur and slide my way out of conversations about my shortcomings, because to come up short is like a death I don't want to live.

On these some days I cling desperately to the idea that it is not supposed to be this way, it's not. It's not supposed to be shut up alone and dark. It's not supposed to be strung out on food that my body doesn't need. It's not supposed to be dodging and deflecting it's supposed to be community and friendship lifting each other up.
But some days the thunder cloud is to black and thick, the cranky pants are to tight and I retreat into the arms of a box of debbies and a triangle of greasy pizza.
Some days I feel like so much of a failure I'm surprised you will even still speak to me.

Most days I'm ok. Most days I see the light at the end of the tunnel I see the good despite the bad. But when the some days come, I feel like I'm suffocating.

By the time you read this the some day will have passed. I will have wiped the grease from my lips and wiped the tears from my eyes. I'm sorry that I don't tell you these thing, I'm sorry that I find it paralyzing this idea of coming clean and shaping up into a healthier shape. I'm sorry that it makes you mad that I can't come tell you these things and the tears in your eyes that day are still imprinted in my mind.
I can only promise to try to do better.
Some day.