I’m not sure how many people know how much sadness can be addictive. It can be addictive to the point where you look for something to bring you down just to feel the satisfying kick of sadness as you silently sob in the bathroom during a gathering or scream into your pillow at night. I?ve been in love with her, Sadness, she was quite the passionate lover. Her love was as electric as the euphoria you get from snorting a line of coke. She never left me, I would come home to her eager, comforting arms. The tears that flowed endlessly down my cheeks were the pillar of our affair, the dread to wake up and face the world was the structure of our intertwined souls and the constant facade of “smile and pretend you’re ok” the foundation of our ever-growing love.
She was such a mysterious mistress, always creeping up on me in public places to take me away on a secret rendezvous in the bathroom stalls. She was insatiable, you?d find her on your bed, couch, kitchen, phone, shower, always ready for the taking, eager to receive your passionate misery and self-pity. Just like any lover, she burned green with jealousy anytime I?d wander off. I was never faithful to her, that I admit. I always sneaked away to meet him; Happiness. He was handsome, free-willing and rewarding. He brought peace, fulfilment and best of all, freedom to my life. But after an hour or two, sometimes a day and when I was lucky, a week of fooling around with him, Sadness would always be in my ear letting me know that I can have a taste of the forbidden fruit as much as I?d like – but I?m forever chained to her.
She was the dominant and I was the submissive. She was my Christian and I was her Anastasia. That?s how I?d describe my time with her, completely enthralling but otherwise destructive. We were on and off, but she had me coiled around her perfectly manicured hand like an alcoholic to his glass of whiskey.
So yes, sadness can be addictive, depression can be comfortable, low self-esteem can be comforting, anxiety can be familiar. It is a shitty life but sometimes we don?t know better and at times we do. It?s never that easy to walk away. Self-pity is a deep abyss to climb out from, deeper than a grave. Comparison is a drug more disastrous than heroine. Self-loathing is as bittersweet as downing tequila shots. They come together in a perfectly wrapped package like those that lie under the Christmas tree after “Santa?s Visit”. As much as ego, pride and narcissism make one selfish and self-absorbed, so do all these. In the midst of their spell, all you see is how everyone and everything affects you.
Words by JayJay Githinji
Illustration by Chandler Saing