.

It makes me sick, the way sadness is addicting, the way I can’t stop

Sadness is familiar.

It’s comfortable and it’s easy in a sense that it comes naturally to me. But everything else about it is hard.

The self-hatred.

The way my mind spins and spins with hopeless thoughts.

The way it poisons everything I do.

Yet it’s addicting, because I know sadness and I know it very well.

There’s a sort of comfort in that, like a sense that this is where I belong.

This is how it’s supposed to be.

And I’d never make my sadness anyone’s problem. I enjoy the solitude, it’s MY sadness, it’s my safe haven that I get to be.

I never saw the need to pull others in to my tornado of emotions.

But it became a problem any way still.