Cloud Above My Head
The movie Inside Out (2015) taught us that we have to acknowledge our Sadness. I learned that the hard way.
This whole year (possibly, even years before) has been a journey of rethinking sadness, like meeting an old friend for the first time.
In true Inside Out (2015) fashion, I used to reject Sadness. I endeavor to become someone irrevocably positive. I imagine myself being this ray of sunshine, this person with an eternal spring in her step who lights up every corner. I strive to be a beacon of positive energy. I learned to say yes and always to be game for anything. I learned to apologize even when it wasn’t my fault, believing that keeping the peace was preferable to any confrontation. I want people to praise me for my optimism and sunshine. And any time I suffer, I put on a smile anyway because “suffering in silence with a smile” seems like such an admirable virtue. And for a while, all of that was okay. Drowning out Sadness was going well.
Sadness felt small compared to its bigger siblings, like misery, despair, depression, and hopelessness. Sadness felt tiny, the kind I could brush off easily or paint over with sunshine. I believed that Sadness could be kept away like an apple does to a doctor. The mantra was simple: Stay happy. Don’t be sad.
As expected, that didn’t work. Brushing off Sadness did not completely abolish it, and instead allowed Sadness to accumulate. It turns out that when you do that, Sadness becomes more complex. It transforms into its scarier siblings and brings along its cousins, like fear, burnout, anxiety, disappointment, envy, regret, guilt, and jealousy. As with life, Sadness becomes more complex, and adding equal parts of happiness for every Sadness just couldn’t cut it anymore.
Since I never processed every Sadness, it clung to me so closely, and I could see it with every Sadness. Every triumph felt like something I didn’t deserve. Every compliment was shrugged off. Every excitement was minimized. Every piece of good news was in danger of being taken away. The anticipation of bad days clouded the brightness of good ones. For every peak, a valley. Every light, a shadow. Wherever there was happiness, sadness claimed its space because it just assumed I would ignore it. And I did. I just pretended it wasn’t there. Instead, I called it Exhaustion, Hunger, and Sleep Deprivation, because it felt easier to eat or sleep through it, rather than calling it what it was.
And so Sadness became omnipresent. Surprisingly, ignorance gave it the power to exist, persist, and grow. Sadness became more monstrous, soon taking up more space than happiness ever could. It crept into my every thought, weighed upon what I said, and even influenced how I acted and behaved towards others. I was irked at the slightest inconvenience. I snapped at innocent bystanders. Sadness was so omnipresent that I couldn’t even see it anymore. I could not find what was wrong. The worst part was I didn’t feel like myself. I was no longer the confident and optimistic person I wanted to be. I failed at exactly what I was trying to be.
On the worst days of Sadness, my best friend said I looked like I had a cloud above my head. On one hand, it felt reassuring. Clouds were fleeting; they would let the light shine through. But at the time, the clouds felt permanent and heavy, as if fitted with metal instead of water. And instead of endeavoring to clear out the clouds, I persisted in denying its presence. In the depths of that Sadness, I found that the worst feeling was not the bluish-gray hue of Sadness, but the void its intensity left behind. I felt nothing, absolutely nothing. I lost the ability to feel sad, but I also lost the ability to enjoy pleasure or laughter. I walked, talked, and functioned as best as anybody, but life felt like nothing more than walking, talking, and functioning, and that was not a life at all.
Thankfully, the clouds did part, and the light did shine through, but not without conscious effort. It was an arduous process, and it required plenty of help. I am eternally grateful to those who put up with how empty I was, filled in every time I couldn’t, gave me the benefit of the doubt, and believed I would find my way back. And I did. Thank God I did. It took pep talks, professional help, and a lot of trust and patience—in myself, in the process, and in how all things have an end.
I deal with Sadness differently now. I call Sadness for what it is. I give it a name and acknowledge its presence. I allow myself to feel the sadness, to allow it to take shape, because when it does, I can hold it, contain it, and finally put it aside. I know now that life is hard and complex, and that I am never shielded from negative emotions. I know that Sadness will be there and I can live with it. I can manage it. I can carry on without the weight of its misery. When it is apart from me, I deny it the power to take from who I am.
