On Sadness .1

The Comfort in Sadness

There’s something innately comforting about sadness, I think, addicting even. It has the ability to completely shape who we are and the ways in which we experience life. It restricts us in many ways but also, ironically, protects us. It had been such a major part of my life for so long that I felt at home in it. I could have peeled back every layer of who I was, and it would be there, interwoven at the very core.

The Art of Letting Go

It had been a constant companion all my life. I remember, before ketamine, I worried about getting better. About being happy. As much as I didn’t really consider it a possibility, there was still a part of me that wondered what it’d be like. Would I be different, or worse, boring? Would I lose my depth, or artistic abilities? So much of art (for me, anyway) is a direct response to pain and devastation. Who would I be without it?

No matter how ugly life was before ketamine treatment, it felt familiar and comforting. I hadn’t really had to deal with sadness much since treatment and, to be honest, it felt unnerving. I didn’t know how I was supposed to deal with sadness like a normal person.

A Newfound Fear

The anxiety is two-fold: on one hand, you are constantly afraid that this beautiful new thing you have in your life is going to be taken away from you, again, when the sadness inevitably returns. But on the other hand, you’re comforted by the sadness. And it feels oddly tempting in a way that you can’t articulate or comprehend, but you’re ashamed of.

Progress

A year later, sadness still feels uncomfortable. But I’m finally feeling more comfortable in happiness. I think, mostly, I’m beginning to believe that I deserve it. And I think that’s always been the biggest hurdle.