sorrow

I never learned to count my blessings

I choose instead to dwell

In my disasters

Ray Lamontagne, “Empty”

This line. This song. I’ve loved it since the first time I heard it. I identified with it, and its words penetrated my soul. I am a fan of sadness. I always have been. I love a song that will make my chest tight, a movie I have to squint to watch because it’s so dark, and a book that I can put myself in and feel every bad feeling the character is feeling. I like the rain, documentaries about Elliott Smith, black coffee, black clothing, and silent rooms. I have been like this as far back as I can remember (minus the coffee, that’s new), finding an almost unsettling comfort in being sad. In a way, I invite it into my life. It has been both a blessing and a curse.

But let's dwell on my disasters.

We all know (or at least I think we do) the downfall of loving sadness. It's hard to love anything without becoming attached. I remember a week where the only song I listened to was "Casimir Pulaski Day" by Sufjan Stevens. I listened because I was depressed. I listened while I was depressed.  Yes, to a song that someone wrote about cancer, experiencing death, and questioning faith. I didn’t even want the option of being happy. In that moment, it felt really good. I liked it. I would cry while belting out the lyrics, and as soon as the song started to fade out, I would start it over. But why? Why am I so drawn to sadness?

Is it that when you're sad there’s really no potential of being “let down”?  Happiness is a tight rope we walk, fearing at any time we can fall. And the happier you are, the farther is the fall. All I can think about when I'm on a high is "when will I trip, when will I fall and plummet back down to where I belong? If this is what happy feels like, why not stay on the ground in my comfort zone where I am bound to end up anyways." I’ve always been more of a “hope for the best, prepare for the worst...the very worst” type of girl. My therapist told me once that I envision worst case scenarios at all times because it makes me feel secure and prepared. I guess that’s sorta true.

Anyone reading this is probably thinking, “no shit she’s depressed. How could she be anything but sad?” Oddly, though, I've found a lot of beauty and comfort in the dark as well. I have met so many like minded and simply amazing people. The music I listen to is sad, but it's also really fucking good music. The books make me feel, and isn’t that the job of a writer? The love of all things somber is not all bad for me, but some of it is...some of it really is.

Most people will describe me as being known for my humor. I’m the funny girl at the table always trying to get a laugh. More times than not, the humor is as dark as it is funny. It’s a total coping mechanism for me. I’ve been told that I use my humor to mask what I’m really feeling. When something's bothering me, I make jokes in order to show others that I’m fine, everything is fine…. Cue the “this is fine” meme of the dog sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee while everything is burning around him. I still want to be funny, but I also want to learn to talk about my feelings. I want my comedy to be funny for me as well as others. I want to make sure I don't tie all of me to my love of sadness.

Not only do I love sad, I've sadly loved. The idea of having a friend or partner that is “better than me” is something I consider not possible. When I use this phrase, I am alluding to people that are successful, happy, or with very little baggage. How could they ever understand the mess that is me? When things go poorly in a relationship, I politely explain to myself that this is what happens to people like me. I say that this is what I get for being me. I am self deprecation at it’s finest. And toxic friendships, I think I subconsciously choose them, and while in them, I repeatedly tell myself that whatever is happening is well deserved. You wake up in the bed you make, right?

I get mad at myself for not having any consistency in which I release a blog, I wish I could end this with, “..now tune in next week, where Hannah discusses blah blah blah” but it could be weeks, and more accurately months, before I write something else. What prompted today's focus was going back on past ideas. I rarely go back and read what I write because, more than likely , if I’m writing, it’s because I’m manic. Today, I went back and read a passage I wrote a few weeks ago, and I found this..

…..It’s my thing. I like to draw you in and then I like to watch you work, and then I LOVE to disappoint you. And now I have embarrassed myself. Now you see me for who I am, and you will never love me again. You will only remember me as someone you once thought was someone you could love. Someone you found interesting at some point in time. I’m a hospital for you to place your thoughts. A place to have your poor ideas sutured. I don't mind it for now, but eventually it will make me tired and I will lay there. I won’t be able to take it. Have I said life is weird? Life is so fucking weird, and here we go over a series of words, hoping that it will help. And here I am listening to Bela Fleck…

First off, how did I know I was manic? Because I can not tell you the last time I listened to Bela Fleck. Apparently, it was a few weeks ago. Also, I didn't even recognize the person who wrote that. It made me sad. I'm glad, though, that I am now able to recognize that it wasn’t healthy talk. I was once asked, "why cant you take the advice that you give to people?" It was such a valid question. When I read my writing from a few weeks ago, my immediate reaction was to wonder why I do this to myself. Why do I think these things about myself? Why do I know how people are treating me, and why do I let it continue? Stop playing the game, Hannah. There's nothing to win.

My initial point, I dwell on my disasters - I wallow in them. Then, I feed them whatever they want in order to allow them to grow until I cannot take it. I get to where I'm phoning my best friend to travel over an hour to stay with her because I’m scared to be at my house alone. I get to where I'm not eating, throwing up, and not sleeping. I dwell on disasters. I place myself in the middle of them and think it equates to comfort. It's a way to feed my ego and to tell myself I’m in control, but nothing could be further from the truth. I am not in control.

I am in control when I’m writing.

I am in control when I’m surrounded by good friends who feed my ego the healthy way.

I am in control when I’m hiking and having impromptu photo shoots with my little humans.

I am in control when I am focused on my job.

I am in control when I am saying 'No' because I know something isn't good for me.

I am in control when I am building new relationships and friendships with people who make me feel a love that is not based on whether or not I’m good enough.

I am in control when I’m genuinely happy.

I am happy when I am counting my blessings and not dwelling on my disasters.

Because of you guys, I’m really fucking blessed, and I am honestly saying this to remind myself above anyone else.

Now with all this being said, will I stop being attracted to sadness? Never. I love it, but I think I will start loving it for what it is without feeling I have to become it. I fully expect myself to be singing my dark little heart out to The National next week in Indy. Tears rolling down my face, not due to sadness, but because those boys from Cincinatti write some brilliant music. I will still spend hours on my laptop reading about Jason Molina’s last days and watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind whenever I can’t figure what else to watch on Netflix, but I will try my hardest not to dwell, not to become the disaster.

Back to that song, I love the first line, but not as much as I love this one…

Well I looked my demons in the eyes

Laid bare my chest, said "Do your best, destroy me

You see, I've been to hell and back so many times

I must admit you kind of bore me."

I know that I am scarred and not without flaws. I have made bad decisions, and I have hurt people by doing so. I have baggage, and I have a past. However, I am a good person that is worthy of love. All of these things have put me in this exact moment where I am. As I look around at my life, seeing who and what I have, I wouldn’t have it any other way.