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Not Every Day Is a Sunday

Dear Heart, 

Not every day is a Sunday. People do not stay confident every day; misalignment occurs, and doubts dominate. The ultimate choice remains acceptance, and releasing oneself from the identity crisis that follows. 

Today, with severe heaviness in my chest and head, I am dropping words onto paper. I messed up brutally at a phase in life. Since then my brain is constantly torturing me, to the point of slaughtering every fragment of peace within me. 

I have always believed that perfection is overrated and almost perfect is perfect enough. But today, I bungled where I could not afford to; I am half tormented, half dead, and completely unconscious of myself, to the point of feeling as though I barely exist. 

My body has stopped responding to me. I am stunned. Whatever I started my day with has left me in mental and physical torment. My very existence has already suffered several miseries recently, and today's anguish has merely added itself to an already established catalogue of tribulations. All I feel is that I am drowning in an ocean from which the return seems irreversible. 

Perhaps the calamity was colossal, or perhaps my mind is creating a hell out of the error that human beings are bound to make.

May the Divine lessen the gall I am submersing myself in with every passing second.

~Zara M.

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