She was stomping around, making breakfast messily, after getting out of the wrong side of bed after a shitty nights sleep. Her knees ached, her ankles burned, her feet were swollen. Her elbow wouldn’t extend all the way and was making it difficult to reach to pick up the kettle. All she wanted was to make hot chocolate and easter buns, a nice choice for breakfast over the easter break.
She was really looking forward to that hot chocolate. She was hoping the comforting liquid warmth would ease the tension and line her stomach before she had to take her daily medication routine. She smelled the chocolate wafting from the cup as she poured the steaming water in and sighed.
She picked up the cup and searing pain in her wrist bones made her falter for a second. The cup fell to the ground, breaking, and the liquid she desperately craved spread across the floor. Hot tears fell on her pink cheeks, angry with herself for not being able to do the most simple of things. She knows it’s not always this bad, she knows there are some good days and she knows this isn’t one of them. And today, she is cranky. She tries to remind herself that it’s okay to feel that way, even the psych told her that it was to be expected. But today, the whole situation makes her cranky. Cranky with herself for feeling the way she does, cranky that her body wont co-operate, cranky that she cant just do what other kids can do.
She looked across the kitchen at me and shrugged as she started to tidy the mess. I know better than to try and help. That just makes her feel more useless, more hopeless. She tidies up and goes back to her bedroom, crawls into her bed and cries.
I go to the store and pick the prettiest bunch of flowers I can afford, go home and put them in a vase and knock lightly on her door.
She smiles when she sees them and says ‘oh Mama, its hard to be cranky looking at such beautiful flowers’.