To An Old Friend

by farrahdomid

I received an interesting e-mail last night. An old friend reached out to me, told me she’d read my blog, and that she felt sad for me. She said the things I write are inexplicably miserable, and that she wishes my life wasn’t so terrible. She didn’t say terrible, but that’s basically what was being said. Normally, I’d probably be really offended, fire back a witty response, but I chose not to dignify her idiocy with a response. I saved the e-mail though. I’d like to read it from time to time. Not to torture myself, but to remind myself that my words are, in fact, quite powerful. In all that she said, I actually felt like I was receiving a compliment I often write about loneliness, anger, sadness, heartbreak, unhappiness, or depression, and I’m okay with that. I’m okay with sharing that. These are all emotions we feel all the time. We are in a constant state of emotion and feeling, and I simply don’t ignore it. I allow myself to feel…and then I express. I didn’t know that by doing this, it meant my life is sad. My life isn’t sad at all. My life has sad moments, but those moments don’t make me. They also don’t break me. I enjoy writing about darkness. I enjoy writing about the gritty parts of life, the times when we’d like to give up, kill ourselves…the times when we feel defeated. I like going that far. It doesn’t mean I’m a depressed woman sitting in front of a computer just crying as I type. This is my relief. This is my escape, but it’s also my work. I’m building. I’m practicing. I’m making mistakes so that I can learn from them. I’m living. Me writing…is how I live. It’s how I survive. Obviously, her e-mail struck a nerve because I’m dedicating a post to it, but more than anything, I’m slightly bothered that she saw my work as a cry for help instead of what it is…my art. My livelihood. This is how I’m able to be myself. I’ve seen some dark days, as we all have, and it’s easy for me to pull from those moments. Whether the things I write about are past or present emotions, it really doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m getting it out. So, if you’re reading this, which you probably are, this is my response to you. I am sorry you feel I’m sad, but I’m happy my words stuck with you. I’m happy they elicited such passion from you…such a sentiment that you actually went out of your way to say those things to me. Thank you for your sympathy, but please hold on to it. I’m content with myself. I’m comfortable in my momentary sadness, and I have a lot of courage to be able to face my demons time and time again…and I’m also courageous because I share my strife. So, really, thank you. I’m a good writer, and you’ve clarified that. I hope you’re well.