What if Netflix doubled as a dating service like “here are 7 other singles that watched Orange Is The New Black for 8 hours straight in your area…”
My therapist tapped her pen, and looked at me
with her chin in her hand, frustration filled the room.
“I think you enjoy being sad.”
There was silence for a minute or two, because
there was a small conflict in my mind, no, I don’t
enjoy this sadness. Yet it’s the only time I feel
alive, because it’s the only god damn time I feel
something. When your bones feel so heavy and
every breath you take you feel like you’re breathing
just to die, and when you need to talk to yourself for a
good 30 minutes after you wake up just to get the
motivation to move, sometimes feeling something,
a cut on the wrist, a tear on your cheek, a cry in the
middle of the night, it means more. It means that you’re
actually alive, because most the time I feel like I’m dead,
I wish I was dead. Sadness means I’m not dead.
“No, I don’t.