Posted by: Erica | April 21, 2010

Even My Happy Place is Sad

“Melancholia.”  They used a derivative of one of my favorite words last night on “Glee”:  melancholy.  I would say it’s my favorite, but how can anyone fascinated with words pick just one to love?  Anyway, on a related note, I realized the other day that even my “happy place” looms with sadness.

It’s true.  Every time the complications of life start to overwhelm me, my mind takes me back to a spot I was in 10 years ago.  At that time, I was dealing with the emotional aftermath of my divorce, my mother was dying from breast cancer, and I was quarantined from even being in the same town as her because I had mononucleosis.  I would go over to Martin’s apartment and literally sleep away the days.  (This should be my “Wake Me Up When September Ends” post)

His room was in the upstairs of an older house.  It was summer.  He only had a window-unit air conditioner to fight against the heat.  My vivid memory is of me lying in a half-conscious state, listening to the dull thump of raindrops splat against the leaves of the mature oak trees swaying in the breeze of a midsummer night’s storm.  I think he had a tin roof.  The hum of the air conditioner, the rhythm of the rain–white noise to screen out the all horrible thoughts that wanted control of my mind. 

At his place, in this room, I was unreachable–my family didn’t even know his phone number.  No one who knew me knew where I was.  And I was safe–Martin was just outside, guarding the door.  I suppose when I visit my “happy place,” I am transcended to a feeling of security amid whatever chaos lies in wait.  Yet, it’s pretty melancholy, wouldn’t you say? 

Those of you who know me best are probably not surprised to learn this about me.  So, those of you who know me best, I’m asking:  what the heck is wrong with me?

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