Yesterday I felt pretty good. It was my second day in a new semester. I had an appointment on Monday with my therapist and I didn't have any big complaints. I've worked out the car situation that was stressing me. I felt, dare I say it, happy.
When I woke up this morning, I wasn't cheery. I'm tired. Even though I slept twelve hours last night. I ate my breakfast, but still didn't feel peppy. I don't feel pretty. I feel, down.
I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me, but then I just realized what it was. Tomorrow it will be three months since A went back. Three months. A hundred and twenty days. God, I fucking miss her. I miss her smile. I miss hugs. I miss her love. I miss her attitude. I miss her spunk. I miss it all.
I feel guilty for having fun with my friends and continuing with my education when she's being swung back and forth between family members acting as babysitters instead of being at school with her friends.
I know it's not a rational thought. I did everything I could to ensure she have a bright future. A judge took that away. Her grandfather took that away. Her mother continues to take that away from her.
But, still. It's hard. It's so fucking hard.