Heavy doesn’t begin to describe how I’m feeling. These emotions are still in my body…all three of them…belaying from my rib cage, plunging their feet into my gut, bouncing down my femur, and finally nuzzling onto my kneecap by day. They hike back up through my organs to repeat the expedition night after night. It’s a game to them. Fishing from my heart without any care when the hook gets caught. Leaving tiny rips in my flesh, tattooing lifelong scars. They set up camp behind my eyes, causing them to blur and work harder to focus on simple things. This army of melancholy is so substantial, my legs confuse their steps and instead, are simply…frozen. Stuck. Although athletic by nature, the excess weight of these antagonists they’re carrying is triggering fatigue and each step is torture.
Grief, Shame, and Sadness. These three have braided themselves into a Rapunzel-like tendril, yanking it up at their own will, making it impossible for anyone to attempt a rescue.
Grief is the quietest of the three. She whispers. Which is ironic because she thieves my voice for sport. In the middle of brushing my teeth or driving to the store…mundane activities…I’ll start to see color again. Emerald City-like color. She’ll pop up out of nowhere without warning…a driver running a red light. Stealing the colors away, changing them back to grey…why does a rainbow tend to disappear within seconds of seeing it? My peace doesn’t last for long. That’s her trick. She’s sneaky. And venomous. Right when I’m about to swallow or speak, she’ll grab my throat, demanding silence, filling my mind with poison. Like walking into an invisible spider web, I’m stunned and immediately filled with apprehension, hands up…guarded, followed by the current realization that nothing bad has actually happened. It was just a memory she hurled at me from her fanny-pack-of-pain that I was unable to dodge. Her aim is so accurate. She follows her direct hit with a whisper, “Remember when…” is her catch phrase. Reminding me of those I’ve loved, lost, and hurt. It's then that my world returns to its pre-yellow-brick-road-wizard-of-oz-vibrancy. Back to grey. Forever cloaked with subtlety, as to elude blame, Grief is clandestine. She’s a master at camouflage, blending in with my insides as if burned into the wallpaper. Just when I think she’s left, she emerges. She’s never gone.
Shame is a loud, obnoxious, back-talker. A bully. Not the kind of bully who just mouths off in public. But more like the bully who incessantly pokes at you in secret, pollutes your social media, assassinates your inner child, and encourages you…to “just kill yourself”. I’m constantly battling this bully. It’s reminiscent of my time in middle school when I had to face 3 girls every day for a full school year as they made fun of me, hit me with objects, chased me down hallways, and shoved me into lockers…all because of the color of my skin. Shame…is just mean. He hides in plain sight. Full of nerve, he has no qualms about manipulating. Employing my mouth as his puppet. His ventriloquist skills are impressive as I move my lips and a slew of belittling words escape. Sometimes I don’t even believe them, but his hand is so far up my ass I can’t stop talking…so my tone changes, humor is added to soften the vitriol, and self-deprecation comes out. It’s a slight disguise, but the milieu is still off-putting. My eyes close and the cells in my body close with them. They’re shutting down to the light, accepting the darkness and believing the lies Shame shouts. This is his goal. To convince me that it’s not what I’ve done that’s bad…it’s that I AM bad. He doesn’t care about being heard, being seen, or rubbing off on someone else…Shame has no shame.
Sadness is sweet, but pathetic. An empath with an addiction. I want to hold her and ask her what’s wrong, but she’s a sidewinder…nocturnal and shy. Her bite may not be fatal, but it will take you down. She travels with a syringe, drawing the sorrow out of others and injecting it into me. As they come into my life, I take them in, open my heart of scars, and Sadness infuses my veins with their melancholy. She is the glue that holds this army together. Without her, the sneaky silence of Grief and the raucous racket of Shame might cause some to go a bit…crazy. But she reels them in at night, builds a campfire, and reminisces. Telling the same ghost story over and over again. It’s pacifying, but temporary. Her presence is like a weighted blanket, squeezing the pangs until they ooze into each other, creating one giant lake of agony. Sleep comes, disguising itself as a savior. Sadness tucks me in each night. The last one to see me awake and the first one waiting for me when the sun rises. Where Grief slithers and Shame flinches…Sadness satiates. She’s necessary.
Do I dare look them in the eyes and beg to be left alone? Or do I need to endure this torment out of duty? How do I evict these destructive roommates? They’ve repossessed my smile and seized my spirit. If I continue living with them lingering around my lungs, my breath will be the next thing they confiscate. Right now, they’re more like an annoying post-nasal drip causing me to grimace with each swallow…over 1000 times a day. But soon, it might turn into a full-blown infection. How does one rid itself of dis-ease? Is the onus on me to stand up and fight back, or simply…forgive myself?
I must stay lucid. They’re teaming together to confuse me…and it’s working. A cloud of overwhelm begins to form overhead and follow me everywhere. It’s time to find beauty in the obscure. Watch the raindrops falls to the earth and breathe in the petrichor, smiling up at its unique scent. A bit of clarity. One drop at a time. Filling my bucket up with hope, peace, and alchemy.
Hope to suffocate Grief.
Peace to mute Shame.
Alchemy to alter Sadness.
A brand new army.
Army of Melancholy