my sadness is asking to use the bathroom during class just so I can lock myself up in one of the stalls and break down completely without worrying about people watching me. my sadness is trying trying trying to write but my hands are shaking too much to do anything but bury my head in them. my sadness is typing up messages to friends about what a ****** day it's been, but deleting the whole thing just as I'm about to send it, because no one deserves to be burdened by my problems— this is my struggle and mine alone; and I need to be able to deal with it. my sadness is not being in control of my own thoughts; not knowing how make the screaming voices stop. my sadness is absorbing the pain from people around me and sometimes letting it get to me.
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my sadness isn't rainy days and a few "sad songs". my sadness isn't "she drank the whole bottle but your name still burns at the back of her throat". my sadness isn't me spending time in children's playgrounds, surrounded by people with thoughts darker than mine ever could be, and a taste for drugs and danger. my sadness isn't "she smokes now, but her mind is still as hazy as the day you left". my sadness isn't flowers in my hair or anything that can be encapsulated in a tumblr photo or quote. my sadness isn't beautiful, nor poetic.
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it's just sad.