i am profoundly sad. i won’t say that i’m depressed because i haven’t been diagnosed as such but it would be foolish to ignore my current state. this is the first time i’ve said this aloud to anyone. to be honest, i should’ve said something sooner but i hate to complain. complaining feels like a sign of weakness. friends have asked me how i’m feeling or doing so many times and i never know how to answer. there’s the fake answer that is a complete lie: “i’m gucci.” there’s the answer that doesn’t directly answer the question but says enough so you won’t continue to probe: “i can’t complain.”

that’s a lie because i do complain, just rarely. this summer i remember venting to friends because i was unhappy. after it was over, i left. i felt wild for putting that on them. on the way home i replayed my grievances over and over in my head. i sounded angry and unhappy. complaining doesn’t make me feel better, it just makes me even more sad. that was this summer and not much has changed. of course there are good days and bad days but lately i’ve had more of the latter.

after began writing this, i searched my mind for reasons why i’ve fallen into such despair. i re-read some of the things that i’d written this year and most of them came from a sad place. but the topic remained the same. disappointment, repeated disappointment. i’m disappointed daily. most mornings i wake up with a “fuck off and thanks for trying email” from a potential employer. i’m so used to it that i don’t open the emails anymore, i just mark them as read. its been a year since i officially graduated and i still don’t have anything to show for it. maybe its the scripts that i’ve sent to people that go unread. i’d rather be told that my writing sucks than nothing at all. did you not feel anything?

maybe i’m lonely. i wrote stories about a love lost this year. deep down there is a fear that the only true love i’ll experience is that of a dream or a memory. i lost the desire to meet someone new. the weight of disappointment has put a strain on any potential relationship. but i’ve always feared that i would die alone. disappointment in this regard couldn’t have contributed much to my sadness.

out of boredom, i continued to read my old work. some of it made me cringe and some pieces made me smile. i started reading what i said on MLK day. “if you let them tell it.” i realized why i was so sad and it was a vain admission that i’m still sort of wrestling with. i don’t feel like i’m in control of my life. i’m not the star in my own movie. i can think of other names that would be billed above my own. my sadness is definitely higher on the credits than i am. when i look in the mirror, i see the man that i am and not the man that i strive to be. my whole life i’ve always had an idea of who i am, and i’m still waiting to see him.

but why am i sad? i thought about the times that i thought myself out of writing something. or the times that my own despair would take my eyes from final draft to indeed.com. the times my bank account told me that i have to stay inside. when i give hours out of my week to a job that i loathe. these outside factors are dictating to me how i should live my life and i listen. the things that do have control over, i let the sadness get to it. think of it like that reflective goo in the matrix when neo touched that mirror during his first meeting with morpheus. the goo attached itself to him then swallowed him whole. that sequence ended with him being born again. the hope is i’ll come out of whatever this is a better person that i was before.

this isn’t a cry for help so if you see me in public after reading this, i’m fine. i wrote this for me because regardless of how i feel everyday, i have to get up and go get everything that i want. i have to look for ways to improve. i’m in the belly of the beast called sadness but it’s not where i’ll stay. the person that i want to be is inside of me. usually when i write about things i get over them so here’s to getting over the sadness.