My Sexy Sadness

I’ve been feeling alive recently

Maybe I’ve been listening to too much Lana Del Rey. Maybe it’s Autumn in the NorthEast and this California girl has never seen leaves change colors. Maybe I refuse to turn the overhead lights on. Maybe we only let girls be brilliant if they're sad. 

I’ve been sleeping with this sadness lately. It snakes around my head at night and blurs my peripherals. As this feeling stays, I fear what it might make me. With sadness coating my words like this, can I still be loved? Will I still be a good daughter or have I already spiraled into something too scary? 

My parents have many dreams for me. They want me to speak to crowds and have babies. You’ll notice that whenever I call my dad I also end up talking to my mom. He brings her to the phone so that he can share his delight. I don’t need to say much, I’m their golden light, the force that brings their ocean to the shore, their very happy daughter.  

I’ve been finding this sadness so sexy but I’ll admit, it’s unlike me. I’m a sweet girl. I’ve been using the coffee machine in the lobby of my sister's apartment building. I did it quietly, always thinking I was stealing. Turns out, that’s what it’s there for. I always think I’m being bad when I’m really just being sweet. I’m not a felon, I’m a princess, my parent’s at least. 

One night I held this sadness in my hand. I held it up to the candle light (not the overhead ones) and turned it around. I watched it, it was such a strange thing. You can have that kind of fascination when you think something isn’t here to stay. 

The sadness was there the next day. I shouldn't be surprised. I know that healing is not linear (I saw it online). So the sadness staying another day shouldn’t shock me but damn, I wasn’t expecting it. I’m not a girl who gets into trouble, remember? I am sweet. Why would sadness keep visiting a girl like me?

Maybe I’m egging it on. Sad songs and walking in the cold can do that. Maybe a sick part of me wants to be sad. I’ve been feeling sad, but also alive. These feelings tell me that I am real enough to be more than passively impacted by the world. Sadness is personal. This sadness chose me, because I am here to be chosen. 

I’m not a bad girl, I don’t want to scare my parents, but I’m still holding onto this feeling. I swallow it but my mortality has me spitting it up again, watching it in the light. Realizing that a heart can only break if it was once whole and beating.