When today is like any other, I am doing well.
Fix bad breath with a toothbrush. Fix restless hands with work. Fix aching hands with home. Fix empty stomach with frozen fish sticks. Fix sleepiness with sleep. I can do that.
I am not doing well.
Fix screaming headache with bed. Try to ignore the smell of salt and metal. Take a shower. Watch the pooling drops surround the drain, rising just a bit. Wrap myself up in sheets so I don't get up and move the couch to the kitchen and snore all the way through. Again. Make one choice to stop another. Just in case Tyler comes back tonight. Or early tomorrow morning. Or never. Even when I'm asleep, I'm not asleep.
I clean out the fridge when the insides smell. Clean the one porcelain bowl, spork and knife I eat with. Make a joke at the chair across the table.
I'm not asleep. I'm ready. I'm on my own at last. Not worrying about Tyler. I'm not covering for anyone. What took Tyler away? I'll look for that. The monster will come for me next. I will stay awake. I will hunt.