May 27th, 2018
Chelsea was tired, Chelsea was desolate, Chelsea was just done. She thought back to before ‘the problem’, to a time before she got to know these feelings so well. Group therapy from the hospital didn’t help her handle things outside of the hospital, but sometimes brief phrases were helpful. Recap, reconsider, re-label. The last one was idiotic, but who doesn’t love some alliteration. So Chelsea recapped the day she had woken up to her Great-Aunt’s boyfriend at the time at her doorstep, she had made all three of her kids, (including the grown man who smelled like cheetos and cardboard) a health centric breakfast of marshmallows on toast. She had then proceeded to get ready, take a long, 5 minute shower, and put on an old dress that was so old it was making a comeback (again), and tried to get her kids into the van … She had driven to the dealership, she had signed the papers, she had done all the work, and now it was over. Chelsea felt as though everything was coming to an end, except herself, she felt as though she was already over. The worst part was, she couldn’t even find the hope in her children, because she didn’t want them to see her pain. She didn’t want to burden anyone with her life, and with his death.