I am incredibly sad. As my niece walks in through the front door to find me laying, face down on the couch, I force myself to admit this truth. I am incredibly sad.
I was laying face down on the couch in my Sunday best. I tried to go through the motions today, but I had to leave in the middle of the church service. I saw someone who had been in my class with me before I fumbled my life’s dream. That someone didn’t see me back, thank God. As soon as I saw her there, standing in blissful ignorance, having no idea what kind of heart wrenching pain her presence was causing me, I started to cry. I thought I was going to be able to get my shit together while the lights were still low. That’s when the pastor called for a meet-and-greet and I had to split. Regardless of the fact that church was designed to be a community where people go to share their lives, I left. I left so I could shoulder this alone. I had planned to find the nearest tobacco hut and bottle of wine so I could drink and smoke this misery away.
My mother-in-law caught me on my way out the door, rode home with me, and that’s how I wound up on the couch instead.
Still, I didn’t admit to myself that I was SAD. Not the kind of sad that people reference on commercials, or the kind of sad that can’t be cured by watching a terrible movie. Not the kind of sad that might maybe, sort of, sometimes, a little bit eek over into the side of sad that is defined by a 10-letter D-word.
No. Leaving church, not being able to make it through a day without crying, having to force yourself to see friends and family, and even then, wishing that you weren’t–those things weren’t enough for me to admit to myself that I am sad. Sad like a quality, instead of a feeling. Ser instead of Estar, if you catch my drift.
It was the niece, running through the front door, shrieking my name at the top of her hyper-excited 2-and-a-half year old lungs, who finally alerted me to the fact that have crossed over from the kind of sad that takes a minute to the kind of sad that requires a fucking effort to overcome. Unfortunately, I don’t know that GI Joe’s rule about knowing being half of the battle applies in this situation. I have no idea how to start getting un-sad.
Today, I guess, I started by peeling myself off the couch. I guess I’ll go with the flow from there.
-S
