When People Say You Should Be Over It, Kindly Tell Them to Shut Up.

This morning I woke up and I was sad.

Sad about him.

Sad about the guy who totally should mean nothing to me anymore.

Today I woke up early, convinced myself that I was getting off to a good start, cleaned a bit, stretched in bed (thank God for being able to stretch right?), threw on some jazz, and hopped in the shower. I was fine. Really, I was. And then WHAM. It’s like a switch suddenly flipped. My happiness was interrupted by an elephant that decided to come and sit on my chest. So I asked him kindly,

“Mr. Elephant could you kindly remove your butt off my chest? I can’t breathe…and there’s a lot of other space to sit, if you must sit in my room.”

Mr. Elephant just looks at me for a moment, then continues to watch a movie on his iPhone (he’s holding it with his trunk, can you visualize it?).

That’s what sadness feels like. A huge elephant crowding your space. You feel overwhelmed at times, confused, and unable to breathe. Offended that he’s present, that he’s following you around. Why can’t he watch a movie somewhere else? Is my room that inviting?

I tell my friends that I’m over it.

That I’ve stopped replaying the good memories over and over in my head at night. That it doesn’t hurt anymore. That I’m alright.

But it still hurts, I still replay the good memories over in my head at night, and I’m not alright.

The difference between today and yesterday though is that I’m finally giving myself permission to heal, no matter how long it takes. If I need to sing All By Myself at the top of my lungs into a mic (*coughs, I mean hairbrush) at 4am then so be it. If I want to spend my Friday nights curled up with a bottle of red and Netflix instead of going out then yes, I give myself permission.

I give myself permission to be okay, no matter how long that takes.