Member-only story
I’m So Tired of Being Sad
Oh, how the cookie crumbles.
It’s cold today, enough that I can feel numbness creeping up my fingertips. The wind batters against me as I slump down into myself on this everyday walk.
If I were to burrow deeper into my head-space, I know that I’d find myself caught up in a turbulent storm of familiar emotions. Why am I alone? What am I doing wrong that I drive everyone away? What can I do to change these unappealing parts of myself?
The wind doesn’t answer. Of course it doesn’t. I’m not a would-be witch wandering in the wood and searching for the elusive magic out there. No wardrobe or bathroom closet or manhole will ever lead me to another world that’s kinder than this one. I have to remind myself every day that there are no easy escapes — and, besides, I’d get lost in the wrong world that would turn out crueler than the one I left.
Books can only do so much. They’re nothing in themselves except tree pulp and ink, but they can be the impetus for change — if only you’re willing to do the work involved.
Me? I just focus on the wish that portals may one day open up and give me an escape from the unavoidable in reality.
I don’t have a bad life, but still I long for more in ways that might seem a bit immature, given my age. If I were to voice all my…
