“Maybe we all have darkness inside of us and some of us are better at dealing with it than others.” 

Jasmine Warga, My Heart and Other Black Holes

For the majority of the day, I have struggled with motivation. It’s not that I don’t want to write, or that I have anything better to do, or even that I don’t know what to write about. I have plenty of material. In fact, right now I feel like I struggle with having too much material. Currently, I’m in a state of trying to figure out the best way to get everything out into the world, in its best form, where everything flows nicely and it doesn’t come off as just a bunch of random word vomit.

But there are also things I struggle with on a personal level. I’d like this blog to be a happy place of joyous silly stories, and it will be. But it’s also going to have the other side, as well. Because that’s me. You can’t have one part without the other. Right?

I’ve been wanting to write about these tiny spiders that are in my bedroom (and really just my obsession with spiders, in general) since the birth of this blog. And something happened in the night that makes me really want to write about them now, however, I just feel like the spiders need a big dedicated post of their own… and today is just not that day. Plus, I have to dig around for pictures and put up trigger warnings for people that don’t like spiders (Jackie, I’m looking at you) and crap like that. You know.

Today I woke up feeling very grey. That grey middle feeling similar to indifference. It’s like sadness, but you don’t really know what you are sad about. I’ve been officially unemployed for two weeks tomorrow. I have been productive every. single. day. since I got laid off. Cleaning my house, taking care of my elderly dogs (ages 14, 15, 16), searching/applying for jobs, taking the dogs on a daily drive, working on this website and blog, and trying to stay positive. It’s been good. Yesterday, I felt great. Today, I woke up feeling like a completely different person. I literally could not bring myself to do anything. Typing these words hurt. Physically. My body hurts, my mind hurts, my emotions hurt.

I’m massively sleep deprived. My 15 year old dog has kidney disease and with that, has had multiple UTIs since December. With the kidney disease plus the UTIs… she has to pee every two hours – on the dot. It’s almost like clockwork. And don’t @ me about getting a doggie door. Yes, it would be extremely helpful in this situation. No, we aren’t getting one. They have an issue where they eat dirt and do other naughty things outside and I would rather them not have free range to go out whenever they damn please, so yes… I will die of sleep deprivation until she dies of kidney failure. I love her and that’s what I will do for her. We did try pee pads but she still wakes me up, regardless. It’s fine. I’m just tired. And because I’m tired and emotional, my old friend depression thinks he can just come back and fuck up my shit again.

I recently read an Instagram post where a women opened up about her vulnerabilities in being addicted to negativity and pain. She described how there was this heaviness that lives inside her, preventing her from loving herself. No amount of positivity or greatness in her life would allow her to let go of this. She calls it “hysterical sadness.” Going into a dark place, being completely blinded by it, and not being able to escape. Holding onto the past, memories, and people that are no longer healthy and probably weren’t in the first place. Yet, not being able to explain why. Feeling stuck. And even with all the internal work, not getting any closer to letting the darkness go.

As I was reading her words, my chest began to tighten up. I’ve never been very good at analyzing myself. I have spent a good amount of time in therapy in my life, and I always found it difficult to figure out why I did certain things. The majority of the time, I made educated guesses based on what others had said about me or sat in silence until the therapist gave me a hint at what he thought. But her words… they spoke to me in a way that allowed me to see a side of myself that had been hidden in darkness. Don’t get me wrong, though… I have no idea what to do with this information. It was relieving, in a way, to find out that I wasn’t the only person in the world who struggled with this. It was comforting to know that I could relate to a complete stranger on the internet on this level. There are other broken brains in the world! But as comforting as it is to know I’m not alone, it’s not going to do anything to help clear the weight, or ease the pain, or allow myself to just be who I need to be and love who I am. But who am I? How do I figure that out?

I had always referred to my hysterical sadness as a shadow. This darkness that follows me around wherever I go. It prevents me from truly ever feeling joy or being happy, at least the way other people experience it. It’s always there and I can never escape it. I still feel joy and I can still be happy… but I don’t think I experience it the way most people do. The best way I can describe it would be a hot sauce packet. When doing something you really love or are really excited about, most people would feel “hot” or “spicy,” and the most I ever get is about “mild-medium.” Maybe. It’s on the lower scale. I used to use the term “indifferent” a lot, because I thought that best described the state in how I felt most of the time. Until I realized a state of indifference isn’t that great. So then I started using the term “grey” and I think that more accurately describes the “meh” feeling. That’s what the shadow does… it turns you into a Grey Meh. And that is what I am today, which is why I did not write about baby spiders.

One thought on “Hysterical Sadness and The Grey Meh

  1. This hit me pretty hard. I can relate on many levels and then not so much on others. Thank you for writing this. You……we’re…..not alone.

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