Sunday, 17 June 2018

about sadness

The sadness comes in waves. It crashes into me when I least expect it, when I turn my back to the sea, enjoying the water around my ankles and the sun on my face, and it throws me off balance. Just when I thought I had both feet steady on the ground it lifts me up again and makes me fight for every inch of space that seperates me from the bottom of the ocean. The sadness comes in waves, and just when I thought I'm close enough to the coast again, when people have pulled and pushed until I could stand again, it crashes into me and pulls me out again.
Just last week another wave crashed into me as I spoke somebody on the phone, and as I went back to my friends tears filled my eyes and complelte despair flooded my brain. Last week, I had a reason, but usually I don't really have one except "it hurts to exist", except my stupid fear of everything and everybody.
Sadness is a weird thing. There are so many kinds of sadness. There's the hollow, deep sadness of losing someone. The burning, painful sadness of missing someone. The kind of sadness that gnaws at your heart until you feel like you can't make it trough another day. They all have something in common though: they'll paralyse you if you don't fight them. Sure, it's okay to be sad for a day or two, in certain cases a few weeks, but you have to start fighting it at some point, and if you don't, the sadness will drown you, consume everything you thought made you who you are and leave nothing but an empty shell behind.
It's hard to fight against the tide pulling you out into the ocean. It's hard work; your muscels will hurt, your lung will scream for air, your skin will burn from the cold water, your limbs will be too stiff to move, but you have to try. You have to fight.
If you don't, the waves might drown you.


No comments:

Post a Comment