The day is the fourteenth of October, 2012.

I spent the morning with little kids, one of the two things that keep me grounded.

Afterwards, I spent the morning with my boyfriend, the other thing that keeps me grounded (first before kids, though.).

I had a fantastic day.

We watched one of my favourite documentary-type movies, The Horse Boy. We made rice krispie treats. We looked up ideas for Trunk or Treat at my church. We took a nap together. He stroked my hair calmingly as I read The Time Traveler's Wife. I could tell a shift in my mood was coming. I think he could too, because everythign he did was soft, sweet, calming. When he kissed me, it was as if he poured his entire heart into it. Everytime he took my hand it was as if the slightest bit of pressure would break me. I love it when he can sense that oncoming storm and just be gentle. It makes the depressive mood so much easier to bear, even though every little thing makes me want to cry.

Then our youth group activity came, and it was like walking on eggshells. The original plan got cancelled, so they decided to go out bowling instead. I didn't want to bowl. I wanted to throw a tantrum and punch a wall and hurt me, hurt someone, hurt something, and then just cry and cry but I didn't. I stayed quiet. I controlled myself somehow, though I feel as if my eyes were watery. Then when we got to the bowling alley, their power had been out since four, so we can't bowl. So instead we went to Firehouse Pizza and had pizza, which made me upset even more because I don't like Firehouse Pizza except their New York Style cheese pizza, and I only ended up getting one slice of it and that's all I had for dinner because it was all gone by the time I went to go get another slice. Afterwards, we played kickball, which I didn't mind because playing kickball with the guys in my youth group is always fun. I wasn't doing too bad either, though I'm really bad at judging where the ball is when it's coming at me so I hated it when we weren't up to bat. Then I was able to pitch, and I pitched for three people before we had to switch, then I pitched for two more people before this other kid started bugging me to let him pitch just one ball and I was really annoyed because pitching is something I am actually GOOD at. But finally he annoyed me to death and I was like, 'okay, one pitch'. Which of course, turned into the rest of the game and that made the rest of the game terrible and not to mention turned me into an absolute sourpuss.

I hate how that one little thing, not being able to pitch, could make my entire night hell. My day was still brilliant. My night was a nightmare. I got home and I cried and cried and cried. I wrote a short story about a seventeen-year-old girl, who was basically me, killed herself by purposefully getting into a car accident, which, I admit, crosses my mind whenever I am driving alone. "oh, if I just keep going… Oh, if I just don't turn and go into this ditch… Oh, if I just accidentally go through the guard rail of the bridge and crash onto the highway below…" I never do it though. I just think it. I imagine it. It's like a fantasy, almost. I plan out every single detail as if it were actually happening.

But that was off topic.

Long story short, I had a brilliant day, even though I could tell I was going to change moods, and then the fact that I wasn't able to pitch triggered that mood change and now the rest of the night is going to be sleepless even though i'm only running on five hours of sleep anyway and I'm going to want to cry at everything and believe I'm alone in life.

I.

Hate.

This.