I can so easily forget what it means to be a person. I can get so easily wrapped up in how I feel when I feel heavy, that I forget how others feel about me. I focus too much on how hard I have to swallow every morning before stepping outside, and how I have to press play to that overrated track in my head: “it’s not as bad as it feels”.
Most days I stay grounded though.
Most days I continue to believe that my life is not the mess it was years ago. Those days I fly. I soar, more precisely. I give myself fully to the beauty of life. I catch up with friends. I stay abuzz on social media. I post positive messages and share inspiring links. And I store those memories. I keep them locked away safely in that box I treasure titled, “For the bad days” because I know bad days do come- sometimes more often than not. And I fear the day I won’t be able to open that box. I fear not being able to show the bad days the finger and say, “suck that, I remember my worth”.
And it gets difficult.
The more open I am, the more difficult it is to push away the bad days. I find my becoming more open and vulnerable somehow going parallel with becoming more superficial. And I struggle with superficial. I want to live open but not superficial. And culture keep on telling me that people don’t wanna hear my sad story. People don’t wanna talk about depression, at least not for too long. People wanna throw buckets of ice water over themselves; they don’t have time to talk about bad days.
People’s lives are full and busy and demanding all their energy, and my vulnerability will steal from them. And so I keep to myself, which is difficult if you’re the youth pastor; if you’re in the business of people; there’s no keeping to oneself. There’s just going out there, be brave, offer advice, smile, go for coffee, lend an ear, support, be confident, people need you, lead, lead well, build, go, go ,go.
Last week, the bad days pressed on me quite heavily.
We are all mourned, questioned, and tried to make sense out of Robin Williams’ death and the bad days seized it as an opportunity to punch me so hard in the stomach that I struggled to understand the purpose of breathing. The bad days told me how small I was; how insignificant I was; how my life is not heading anywhere. And I struggled to open the box. All roads pointed to where Robin Williams were.
But I’m still here.
The bad days didn’t win.
But I know my wrestle with the bad days is far from over. The bad days doesn’t tap-out that easily. It’s a tough cookie. It comes back, wounded and bleeding and wants you to tap-out instead. It wants you to throw in the towel and say, “I’m done; I’ve had it”.
Therefore it’s quite painful when the world only allow you to talk about the bad days when yet another celebrity tapped out; when another famous person throws in the towel. Other than that, according to the world, all you need is a good dose of ‘get-over-yourself’ to deal with the bad days. And I know this is not entirely true, but most of the time the bad days don’t get celebrated, talked about, or granted the importance it requires. And what I want most during my bad days is to talk about it, even though I say I don’t.
So here’s to pushing the talk about the bad days.
Here’s to not waiting for another celeb tap-out.
Here’s to millions of ordinary people having bad days and their longing to talk about it.
Peace to you.