I have made myself sad. It happens. I should take better care of myself, I guess. I have been reading a story late into the night, and it is beautifully written and sweet and loving, but it also features past abuse quite heavily and I should have known better than to read a story like this, no matter how much love there is in the present for the characters.
Because there are days when it doesn’t matter that you have been leading a good life for many years. That you are safe and loved. I’ve been working hard for this. For this place where mostly things are good and most humans in my life are people I can trust. But days like today there is a queasiness in my stomach that won’t go away and a sadness in my mind that lingers.
So I try to be kind to myself. I try to remember all the good things I’ve built without cringing at the thought because I fear that even just thinking about them might be enough to alert the powers that be that I do not deserve them. If I remember all the work that went into it, it eases the fear of having it snatched away from my like a dream. If I remember all the work, ít eases the impulse that I should be punished for everything good that happens to me. The impulse that in lieu of anyone else punishing me I should be punishing myself.
The sun is shining outside my window and that is good. The past is lingering, yes. It sits in my stomach and my chest, it tingles in my fingertips and bleeds onto the paper. But a lingering sadness is okay. There is light and there are colors. I will hold onto those. And I will be kind to myself today.