My Blanket

Sometimes I get wrapped up in a blanket of sadness. It’s not a nice, comfortable blanket. It’s not a knitted blanket from my Nana. It’s not a Sunday on the couch blanket. It’s an itchy blanket, a fire blanket making sure no oxygen can sneak under it. I’m wrapped in this blanket of sadness right now. The things that normally fill my heart with joy only seem to squash me down deeper. The dread bubbles up from my stomach and into my throat like sick. Everything is grey and nothing is good. I get wrapped in this blanket frequently, but it dissipates as quickly as it takes over. I acknowledge the sadness and let it run its course. I lock the doors and I cry, but I wake up every morning and hope that the blanket has loosened it’s grips – that the cotton on the hem has frayed enough for me to begin to unravel. I do things I normally love, because I know that eventually I will love them again. I wash my face and I go to work because my sadness will never stop me living, it will never win. Maybe one day I will burn the blanket, but for now it’s a reality and it’s okay. Sometimes I feel sad and I’m okay with that because I am human.

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