About last night.

In the glum darkness of the night, I sat up on my bed. My heart heavy as wet laundry. My tongue stuck to my palate, my eye balls hid under its lids in despair. I straightened my skimpy clothes and considered the life I was given. Contemplated on every opportunity presented, the decisions I made, the experiences I had, the pain I carried, and the tears I wiped.

The sound of thunder and lightning alarmed me and I looked at the fierceness of the bolts savage through my window. I watched nature in action from my melancholic room as the curtains swayed in the mild wind. Is the weather outside painting the accurate picture of the turbulence in my heart? Thoughts rummaged once again pressing my spirit to the lowest pit and I partially went deaf in the ear and numb in my being for a brief while.

Why is it I always feel like I am walking on a rope, why can't I take risks, face challenges and make something out of myself? Why can't my stomach be flat and legs be slim like its meant to be, why can't I have eyebrows that are arch shaped and not like a straight line drawn by a child. I investigated and dissected every meaningful, trivial situation I was ever a part of. Shed drops of salted distress on forgotten heartbreaks, unsavoured relationships, awkward moments, meaningless friendships, self pity and the need for validation.

Sometimes, we women look into our entire lives because we want to be in control, some other times it's just PMS.