Who’s Afraid of the Big, Bad Blues?

I deflated flat across his bed, trapped by my smallness. He leant over me & smiled. I said, “Why are you laughing?”
He said, “I’m not, I’m smiling.”
“Well why are you smiling?”
He smiled harder. “Because for some ridiculous reason, I still love you.”
& I wanted to cry then but the tears wouldn’t quite come & also, I didn’t really want them to. I said, “I’m sorry I make your life difficult.”
“You don’t. You make your life difficult.
& I argued with him. But the exchange was rather deja vu; I could swear I had said that someone before & they had answered in the same way. 

& herein lies the problem. I am like the dog that chases his tail. I chase myself, I bite myself, I exhaust myself. 

& where did this come from? This disbelief that I can be loved? 

She & I are such good friends that we timed our breakdowns. We got home at the same time & we fell apart at the seams simultaneously. I was putting the carrots away when I heard the whistle of her tears pulling into Breakdown Station. I continued putting away groceries: tofu, lentils, spinach. So Good soy ice-cream that was, ironically, not so good. Then I went back inside & hugged her & kissed her head & cried into her hair. I could feel her pain seep into me. I wept for both of us. We listened to grey songs & we laughcried as we bared our hurt. She gave a hilarious, painful performance of her Feelings. I said, “Why is Life so painful for us? I know of other Sensitives who suffer like us & it’s not like that for everyone & it is because we are so sensitive, because we carry everything with us all the time.  I hurt all the time, even when I’m okay, & I know you do too & most people don’t understand that- how could they & why should they?”

& so we bawled our eyes out for a few hours & we hugged & we told each other we loved each other & when we woke up the next morning, we were both quite bright. 

So, here we go on. Focus on each day as it comes. Slow down the thoughts. Pick out the dysfunctional ones like bad grapes. Don’t let any of them sour. Instead, make wine of them. Be still. Focus on each breath as it comes. You might have been dirtily depressed last Thursday but that was four days ago & today was okay & you need to ride that. 

I’m changing tack though. I’ve been squashing grapes for years but I have not made any wine. I have been letting the depression overwhelm me; I have allowed myself to be swallowed by my suffering. & especially in the last three years, I stopped fighting back

I don’t know if I’ll ever be happy, but I might as well be productive in my misery, you know? If I’m going to hate myself, I might as well accept that. If I’m going to be permanently swollen with past pain, I might as well use it as a pen. I might as well, I might as well. 

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Alexia

I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

3 thoughts on “Who’s Afraid of the Big, Bad Blues?”

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