#4: sadness (i’m too tired to come up with a catchy title)

by epi

Sometimes I think I shouldn’t post my heart all over the internet. And then I remember, yes I should. Or, why shouldn’t I? And even though I can think of so many answers, all of them are ignorable (notice I didn’t say meaningless or without merit).

this year brought sadness. enough, i think, to compete with 2007. today, a family member told me i go in cycles. maybe that’s true. this sadness felt different though. it was deep, penetrating, cleansing. that last one is why this year can’t hold it against me. i felt so… sad. not all the time, not for a long time, but enough for long enough to know that there are some things even “choosing joy” can’t fix. i had to be sad. so i cried. and you know what? okay. i was sad. i cried. but, lately, i’ve been laughing too. not forced laughter either. not surface laughter. the kind of belly laugh you surprise yourself with. the kind that overcomes fear of being too loud, or laughing too long or not enough. i see now, as deeply as i can feel sadness, i can feel happiness. all those years, i dealt myself a safe, but weak hand. no risks, no gains. i just… was. standing on a mountain of everything trying to prove that i could {could what? i don’t even know}, even though, honestly, i couldn’t. can’t. i’m climbing down. Someone’s holding my hand. i’m gonna trip and skin my knee or trust someone who breaks my heart or make a mistake or get overwhelmed or fall in love or have one memorable night that’ll stretch even into my old age or succeed at something i never would have tried or make it standing tall. and you know what, 2010? it’s going to be worth it. the first i laughed after months of crying, i knew that in a way that you can only fully grasp joy in the wake of tragedy. it’s already worth it. all those tears. that fear. those pleading prayers (Abba, thank you for letting me live it out, for not answering my prayers then). that… ache (do you know it? heartache so strong it’s physical, and you’re fighting back nausea because you haven’t been able to eat in days and the only thing you have to vomit up is memories and more sadness).

so, 2010. thank you. i wish you would’ve attempted to soften a few of your blows, but you didn’t. and i’m left with broken bones that healed stronger at the crack and the strangest sharpest happiness i’ve known yet. and a sadness too, ebbing at my edges, letting me know that i’m not done yet, that there’s more. that possibly, with my history and my way of processing, there’ll always be more and i won’t always be ready and i won’t always be happy, but i honestly believe that’s okay. i mean, it’s okay. to be sad. i mean.