Comfort and sadness

My friend used to be depressed. Her older brother used to be depressed. Her dad used to be depressed and he didn’t make it.

She said she was lucky. She was the latest person in her family to be depressed. She learned a lot from the ones before her, on how to be depressed and on how not to.

It’s not a fun thing to share but they did share the weights of depression. When she curled up in bed and couldn’t get out for days, she thought about this cursed family tradition that they all shared at some point in their lives, and it was sadly comforting.

They all went to therapy. Different ones. Her dad didn’t make it. Her brother, after her dad hung himself, tried. He made it. He made it out. When my friend was diagnosed with depression, her brother was the one who drove her to her doctor. She saw one man in her life make it and one didn’t. She had to make some choices for her own.

She also made it out. She took meds like her doctors told her to. She went to therapy like she should. She was diagnosed when she was 15. Her teenage years were spent taking medicine to “alter” her mind. During a time everyone else was trying to figure out who they were, she took meds to let go of a part of her. Ten years later she stopped going to therapy. She was no longer clinically depressed, but she no longer knew who she was now that she wasn’t that “depressed girl” anymore.

She had a family of her own now: a nice husband and four kids. She had a good life and would carry on having a good life. She had dinners with her brother often. She fell in love and laughed a lot. But sometimes when that Nirvana’s song was on

I miss the comfort in being sad
I miss the comfort in being sad
I miss the comfort in being sad

She sat in her rocking chair by the window trying to not turn her melancholy into real sadness. She thought about how happiness is fleeting and maybe sadness, sadness is eternal in her.

Wrote this quick prose for a Go Dog Go Prompt. Always a pleasure to write their prompt.


The town where nothing ever happened

Photo by Gianluca Grisenti on

“As soon as I’m old enough, I’ll leave this town. I’ll leave it so fast, people wouldn’t even know I’m already left.”

I remembered you told me so when you were 14. I remembered you saying that while cleaning your dad’s truck. He was so strong, so healthy back then. He was the typical ranch dad that you both loved and hated. He was tought but he loved you. You knew that. But him loving you wasn’t enough to keep you from wanting to leave. Because living with him was a pain. Trust me, I knew! I was your neighbor anyway.

I remembered you were so excited for your 18th birthday. It was in June right? School just ended. You had your high school diploma in your hand. You waved it at me while riding on the back of you buddy’s truck. You told me you were leaving this town next week. You were going to a big city. I forgot which one now, but I guessed it didn’t matter anymore. You never got to go.

That day when that tree branch dropped on your dad and hit his head, it killed both your dreams and lives. A man who used to be tough, strong was then paralyzed from the waist down. What were you going to do? Leave him alone in this goddamn town while you left to go somewhere for yourself? You couldn’t do that.

He loved you. You were everything he had. And you knew you were everything he had. All the money you saved up to get away was then used to pay for his hospital bills in the city. Thanks to that, he was only paralyzed from the waist down. Our local “hospital” said he wouldn’t make it. But you were there and made sure he would make it. You always loved him more than you gave yourself credit for.

You never got a chance to go to college in the big city like you wanted. You never lived the life you deserved and I wondered how that felt. Every time I visited home, seeing you smoking your good old Camel alone next to the fence, my heart always ached a little. Knowing you could have so much more but life was hard on you.

You were good at what you do. You made good money. Your dad taught you well. Everyone in town was jealous. But they didn’t know the dream you left behind. What’s money for if you never could leave this town? Not until you still have your dad anyway.

But when you dad passed, will you still able to go? Are you still brave enough to leave everything behind and leave? When you were 18 and had nothing to your name, things weren’t so scary then wasn’t it? But you had a daughter now, you would stay for her as well wouldn’t you?

My oh my, I will never forget you that day on your 18th birthday. Young, brave with your blond hair shinning under the sunset waving your diploma at me, telling me you were leaving for forever. That was the happiest I have ever seen you.


That romance

Photo by Brianna Martinez on

Sometimes you are just sad. You’re melancholy sad. You don’t need to think about anything in particular or need an actual good reason. It’s that feeling when you listen to a song or when you watch a movie or when it rains. When you listen to a touching song, you have this feeling rising up in you. It feels close but it’s not sadness. It’s a melancholy feeling of you sensual soul pinching your heart. That’s why it aches but never actually hurts. That’s why holding a cup of tea while watching the rain warms your soul.

When I was a teenager, that feeling came more often. I couldn’t tell you how many essays and poems I wrote about rains. Now, I hate rains. It’s wet, windy and gloomy. But sometimes when I was in a good mood, I found those mild sadness again. And when that feeling came I tried to fully submerge in it. I would stand there watching the rain through the window. I just stood there and stared, and not think about things much. To me that feeling is the romantic side of the mind. If’s the same feeling of when you watch the waves crashing the ocean shore. You can’t help it but have those feeling in you. And remember, its’ the romance.

I read a little article recently about calling out your emotions. It’s a circle that tries to explain and name every emotions we can have as a person. I understand that it’s a good tool for mental health but in a normal daily, I really appreciate the vagueness of a feeling. That no-name feeling that suddenly washes through you sometimes and you can’t control it. It comes and pinches your heart so you know that your heart can still shake the time calls for it.