At some point in their life, everybody has been sad.
They have cried.
They have lost themselves in a cocoon of apathy and gloom.
But do they like it?
I love being sad.
There’s nothing to love about being sad.
But I love being sad.
Falling into the familiar pillow of misery and self pity.
Spending days hollowed up in the chasm of never-ending insecurities.
There is something comforting about giving into your fears.
Cleansing yourself in them.
I hate the romanticized aura that surrounds suicide. There is nothing beautiful about slitting open your wrists, splashing your spurting blood onto the pale bathroom tiles, feeling your life drain out of you. There is nothing liberating about standing over a ledge, pondering on where it all went wrong, and then taking the final leap. There is nothing peaceful about downing a bottle of sleeping pills, not because you want to sleep, but because you never want to wake up.
But then again, I’m not suicidal.
I’m not depressed.
I just love being sad.
Is that so bad?
Life is unfair.
Sooner or later, you’ll be spiraling down the stairway into a much loathed territory of somber and pessimism and sorrow. You wont be able to help it. Whether you like it or not, you will be down that road.
So why hate it.
Why not enjoy it.
Life is a bitch, but then so are you.
I love sad.
Not because she snogs me when i’m mopey.
But because she is always there when nobody else is.
Because sad is always there to help me.
Help me to pick up a book, tear it up and set it to fire.
Not because I need to, but because I want to.
Sad inspires me to type furiously into my computer, breaking the “F” key in the process. She floods away months of confusion and blank pages, amputating the plain ugly outgrowth that “writer’s block” has become.
You must be thinking that I’m one sorry piece of crap, but I don’t blame you.
Maybe because I am.
Or maybe you think that this is some kind of self therapy.
Maybe it is, maybe it isn't.
This thing that I started as an introspective piece on..well, things to be introspective about has managed to meander it’s way into the nothing. Fearing repetition, I would have ceased to force myself with this...whatever this is.
But no. I’ll go on with these musings of mine.
Ahh screw it. The ice cream’s melting.