Thought Catalog

I like being sad. I like feeling utterly alone or helpless or dark or all three at once. I like lying in bed and crying or just laying in bed, staring at my ceiling, brooding over the train wreck my life seems to be. I like feeling sorry for myself. I like being miserable and touchy and quiet. I relish in the question, “Are you okay?” I get off on looking ominous and answering with a quiet, “Yeah……(read, prolonged silence) I’m fine I guess.”

I don’t feel sad because I’m depressed. I don’t feel depressed because I’m crazy. I like being sad because sad inspires me. I like being sad because sad gives me courage to say things. Sad gives me an excuse — more than anger or euphoria or mundaneness — to speak my mind. Sad sometimes even gives me a free pass for the things that escape my…

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