Flying away from home

Sadness is a cloak I’m wearing for a while. It’s heavy, not particularly warm, and it doesn’t bring out the color of my eyes. Only fate will determine how long I must wear it.

Unlike depression, which sneaks up on you slowly like a skittish, black stray dog, sadness is a sudden plunge. It’s that part of the roller coaster where you know the big drop is happening, and you have no way out of it, so you just scream. It’s panic. You’re able to survive the adrenaline of it because you know it will be short lived. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not the next day, but soon enough you’ll emerge from sadness and see sunshine. You will survive it, even if you’re a little stunned afterwards.

That it's short lived is the implicit promise that comes with sadness. In this way, I think sadness is most certainly preferable to depression or grief. You almost wonder why you need to feel it at all, given that you know that there is an end to it. What’s the big deal? Why be so hysterical? Unfortunately with sadness, there is no choice about if and how long you will bear it.

We’re all frightened children when it comes to sadness. It’s an uncomfortable cloak to wear. Almost unbearable at times. Now that I’ve been sad for a few days, I worry for myself. I don’t know if my eyelids can swell much bigger. I’m not sure if my normal, optimistic self will be waiting for me at the other side of this tunnel. It’s somewhere on the spectrum between unsettling and terrifying (I still can’t make up my mind where).