Thought Catalog

I Am Not My Sadness

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Linus Eliasson

I am not my sadness
I am not my joy
I am not my jealousy
I am not my head held high
I am not my insecurity
I am not guilt
nor am I my anger
these emotions are visitors
to the vessel that I am
and I love them
and feel them
and don’t attach stories to them
or identify with them
they simply come to sit on my stoop
and I drink tea with anger
and I hear her rage
I see her flex her biceps and her blood boil
I see her face popping and arms swinging
I invite sadness to sit beside me
she is blue
everything she touches turns blue
I see the weight of her heart as the words fall slowly out in tears
and then I kiss her goodnight
joy is next
and she is standing and talking quite loudly with her hands as she tells a grandiose story with gleaming eyes and laughter shaking the mountains around me
she is light and I feel relief at her presence
she is like sunshine and strawberrys picked from the baseball field on a Sunday behind my grandmothers house
eaten with dirty hands
and then guilt shows up
dragging his feet as he comes to lean beside me on the white post
and the weight of his existence oozes and draws the energy from the earth
he is born with a heaviness he does not know how to shake and I do not try explain or heal or fix him
I just let him stand beside me as the sun goes down
drinking the glumness that he is prescribing
Jealousy shows up before I’ve had coffee
she is wearing leather pants and she hisses at the world while she sways her hips
holding a cigarette between her red lips she seethes and spits
in a short mini skirt
she is fire
Soon after is her sister in crime insecurity
insecurity walks tentatively up the steps
she’s not sure if she’s welcome
even after I’ve welcome her in
she doesn’t want to sit
For she is so afraid of taking up space
and so I let her shake beside me
I just love her like that
And then arrogance rolls up
In a Mercedes Benz
He revs his engine with the tenacity of a child longing to be seen
and instead of rolling my eyes and telling him he misses the love of his mother he never received
and that her love isn’t out here in this world
that he won’t get it like that
with his loud car
it’s inside
and he must sit still to find it
I see him
I smile
I welcome his loudness
his boisterous presence into my arms
I take his broad shoulders and stiff neck reaching for the stars into my heart
you see
You and I
are not our emotions
they are visitors
passing in the day and in the night
and all you must do
when they come knocking
is welcome them inside
with the knowingness that they truly never stay forever if you just honour and feel them
with presence and love them through. TC mark

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