Those who have been eminent in philosophy, politics, poetry, and the arts have all had tendencies toward melancholia.
I also mentioned before how Jerusha Abbott inspired me to be a writer, but I was a kid. At one point in our lives, we probably looked up to someone and aspired to be them. But sometimes, the things we wanted then are not the same things we want now—that is just how things can drastically change.
In days that I haven’t been posting, I asked myself why I write now. You know I write for a living, but it’s different.
I am talking about this writing. Why are you in this platform? What made you bear your soul, your feelings, all your emotions into words and let strangers read it?
We all know it takes courage to write, but it takes so much more to put yourself out there—with your thoughts. Are they genuine? Are you being honest with your words? Or are they filtered? Do you only write what you think people would like to read? Do you only write for yourself?
Isn’t it amazing how words can make you vulnerable and strong at the same time?
You see, I have lots of thoughts about it and I know I am not the only one. Then it hit me, this is why I write—because I am not the only one.
I write to tell my story. So, what does it have to do with you? People care. When we write these thoughts and emotions down, there will always be someone who will feel what exactly it is like to be in the same situation and you may give them the impression that no matter how cliche it is, they are not alone. Though, not everyone understands all the time.
Being emphatic is different from being sympathetic. As a writer, we tell stories, but as a reader, where do we belong? As a reader, do you understand or do you feel the writer? A friend always tells me, knowing is different from feeling.
Last week, I got a new article up on Thought Catalog. I try to make my articles there really hopeful or encouraging somehow. I write those words that I want to hear and I want myself to believe in.
I shared it on my Instagram story and created a poll asking if my followers like it. There were about two people who said no. Hear, hear. Not everyone will like our crafts but for it to be there, like downright no—it doesn’t lessen the impact of hurt; of feeling that I am lacking in writing.
I wonder if they’ve really read it or they just based their judgment on the title: This Is How You Live With Sadness. I realized, people would not like to read something sad. Why would you live with sadness, right? Happiness is a choice, right? There is so much more in the context, though.
But, this is me. I don’t write to please people. I write to reach out. Writing is my catharsis. I am back writing depressing pieces because it is how I feel and I can’t sugar coat it or tell things otherwise. This is how it is.
I realized that this is how I really write. I just used to hide them in verses, in my poems. I tried to cover up my situations by doing my random favorites. Looking back, what message did it convey? Did you even get something from it?
This personal blog will be the documentation of each moment I go through—good and bad.
I actually lost two followers here as well. I realized maybe this is where and how the stigma begins. It is not like people want to dismiss your feelings, maybe they just think that reading sad posts won’t do them any good.
Maybe it annoys them, like, ah here she goes again with her misery. Really, I am annoyed at myself, too – but please know I did not choose this. I can always choose to be happy but I did not choose this.
If we have to talk about this sad part […] how much truth can I get off my chest?
I think, it was last year when I started to be too honest about my mental state and my feelings. Until now, I am not sure if that is a good idea.
It is also the reason why I stopped posting in a while. 8 days might be short for you and you probably did not notice I was gone here but that’s probably the longest time I’ve gone hiatus since I set goals for my post count. But, I had that eureka moment and I am writing it now.
I write for people who go through the same thing. I am here to tell you it is different for everyone, but we did not choose this. Please, do not beat yourself too much. I am not here to tell you I understand or that I know but I am here to tell you that yes, I feel it, too. Immensely.
I am not here to tell you to go out, enjoy the sun, and exercise to get your blood flowing. I am here to tell you that you did not choose to wake up on the wrong side of the bed, and you definitely did not choose the cloud that rains on you the moment you open your eyes. We did not choose this, but we can do something about it.
I am not here to tell you to find happiness in little things because I know that that is exactly what you are trying to do. I am here to tell you that you did not choose the emptiness inside you; you did not choose to feel this way.
I am here to tell you that you are doing good in controlling your breaths; to tell you that you are strong enough to take a step forward. We have a long way to go, but let us walk towards there together. Let me hold your hand.
I write to tell people the truth and this is my truth.
This is our truth. We did not choose this. Our emotions are valid. We are not ungrateful, and it is not about us lacking faith as you claim it to be. This is so much more than what you think. This is so much more than anxiety. This is not just being sad.
This is our truth, and we are scared.
I am scared. I prefer feeling so I panic when I feel detached. It just happens. I don’t want to talk to anyone—even my family and the friends I value the most. It is scary knowing that you are surrounded by the people who love you but you are just not there. I call it my blank mood. I am just like suspended in the air.
Maybe that is why I like the quote “I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life” from The Great Gatsby. It feels like it, I am here and I am not. It does not go away after panic attacks subside. Some days are better than others but it does not completely go away.
It is scary. It is not as pretty as we try to sound it to be in our poetry. We did not choose this switch that magically turns on; it knows no time and it happens anywhere.
But, the fact that we are still here? Please know that we are really trying. Please know that you do not have to understand if it does not make sense to you, but please do not think less of us. Please know that most of the times, it does not make sense to us, either.
We did not choose this. We still don’t know how creativity, sadness and madness all come together. [this is how i came up with the quote above] It is just how it is.
I write to keep my calm and my sanity.
I write because I want my voice to be heard; for my voice to be louder than the screams inside my head.
I am suicidal but in the gray area so you should not worry about me. I just want to write this because that is what I do – I write.
I do not intend to pass on the negativity or the sadness or whatever you feel when you read this. Happiness is a choice, right? Choose it.