depression silhouette - Valenta Mental Health · Rancho Cucamonga

He didn’t want to do this again, he didn’t, nope, not at all, no, no, no. Going back wasn’t fun any longer, especially since he kept going back to that day, to that time, when nothing he did was good enough to change anything. Even now, anything he did just came out wrong and he didn’t know how to fix it. Everything he touched turned to shit, everyone he tried to help ended up hating him, and he didn’t want to go back. But he couldn’t figure out how to stop it. Hell, he didn’t even know why it had started.

“God is mysterious my ass,” he muttered, huddled in on himself as he rocked back and forth on his bed, the rumpled sheets appearing to mock him as they laid puddled by the edge of the mattress. His wife had gone to work already, the kids were back in school thank God, so none of them had the chance to see him like this. They all knew something was wrong, but they’d been kind and they’d been able to do as he asked, leaving him alone for the time being since he had no idea what he would do or what he might say if they continued to push.

It was amazing really that nothing changed that much once he woke up back in his bed, back in his life, which wasn’t terrible, but could be better. He had a wife that loved and respected him, kids that were happy to see him each day, and a life that was worth living. But every other morning he woke up back in that year, on that day, and he couldn’t find a way to make it stop. The last time had been the worst since he’d thought that it would be like that Bill Murray movie when he finally got to move forward after being stuck in a time loop for God knew how long. But this wasn’t quite like that. His life still moved forward when he woke up, he would go to work, not today since it was his day off, he would interact with his family, and he would continue his life.

But the next day he would be back in 1996, and the worst day of his life would begin all over again, and it would go about the way he remembered, no matter what he did. Fate was being more than a fickle bitch in this matter, but he couldn’t figure out to make it better.

(to be continued)

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