Sadness has no hands

You woke up heavy and went straight on alert. It didn't feel like ordinary sadness. It felt like the first sign of a fall. Since then you've been watching your mood like a river after hard rain, waiting for it to spill over. Now you're carrying two loads. The sadness, and the fear of what it might make you do. The heaviness is real. The countdown isn't.

Sadness has no hands. It can't open a drawer. It can't walk you to a store or put a cigarette in your hand. Only a decision can, and a decision has your name on it. Between the ache and the reach there's a gap. That gap is where you live now.

When a feeling got hard, the cigarette pulled the plug on it halfway through. So you didn't get to see how long sadness lasts, or that it thins and shifts when you let it run. You're learning the real length of your own feelings. Full length can feel like forever. It isn't. A sad day you walk all the way through isn't a longer sadness. It's a finished one.

Lower the bar for today on purpose. Plan an early night and call that enough. Say it to God however it comes out. He's already in the room. Today's heavy. Keep me close, and keep me free. If the low moves in and won't leave, tell your doctor or a close friend. Reaching out is part of the healing, too. Whatever tonight feels like, you'll close your eyes free.