I used to be sad.
Openly, publicly, sad.
I wore my sadness like a badge of honour.
Like a battle scar.
It defined me - my cuts and my pills and my tears became all that I was.
I wallowed in it, and somewhere along the way I became so obsessed with what I had lost that I wasted what I had.
I took for granted everything and everyone that could still make me happy, and I focused on how sad I felt.
I missed out on so much,
because I was so focused on what I was missing.
I am still sad. Even more so than before.
(Although “sad” seems far too small to describe how I feel.)
I think I always will be, at least a little, but what I know now is I can’t let sadness be all that I am.
I can’t let mourning what I no longer have stop me from appreciating what I have still got.
Because one day I will lose that too, and it hurts more to regret what could have been than to miss what was.