To be quite honest with you, I haven’t been happy for the past eight months. I am deeply grateful for all the good things happening to me and the lovely people I’m surrounded by, but there is always this lingering melancholia that follows me wherever I go, like bad cologne. I keep hoping I’ll wake up one day and be happy again. Some days are better than others, but mostly I am in this consistent motion of “I’ll be ok.”
For the past two years of my life, I have been taking February through October as a time to heal from what happened November through January. The second I thought it was done and I’m good again, something happens and I’m back in that state. I think this is what Taylor Swift meant when she said, “how can a person know everything at eighteen, but nothing at twenty-two.”
Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. — Romans 5:3-4
It is an inherently Catholic belief that the only way out is through, that suffering is an unskippable process toward redemption and ultimately salvation. I am someone who takes a really long time to contemplate, to trace my steps back and think about what I could’ve done better. I give my sadness depth and meaning by replaying these things over and over again. And I love the above verse from St. Paul, our goat, because the suffering ultimately leads to the hope that we become better people.
The suffering is all mine to take. I find it to be deeply profound.
But the other day, this idea was challenged by a post I found on Twitter:
My life got significantly better once I realized that the suffering I’ve experienced doesn’t make me more interesting or more complex, and that I would enjoy life more if I moved on and earnestly tried to be the happiest version of myself every day. — @caro_irl
I took it very personally. As someone who suffers on a regular basis, I find solace in seeking the beauty within melancholia. To say that my suffering doesn’t make me more interesting — I reject that. But it is my belief that “moving on earnestly” cannot be done without the contemplation and the suffering. When you did something bad, or when something bad happens to you, there is a lot of internal work to be done to process and be better.
And yet — it is not very Catholic to hold these things and not forgive. There is a difference between suffering logically and drowning in regret. I want to say that I am the former, that I am willingly lamenting to make meaning of all this. But it could also be a very slippery slope to suffer for eight months without forgiving others, while also not forgiving yourself. I do want to challenge my own idea of this constant lament, because it is not a good feeling after all. It’s like I’m repenting for the sins of others.
I am not someone who second-guesses my choices often, let alone my self-worth. I talk of heartbreak as a lesson in life, a canon event — like a speeding ticket or something. I think it’s because I know I make the best choices for myself given the circumstances. It’s like what they say in retro meetings:
Regardless of what we discover, we understand and truly believe that everyone did the best job they could, given what they knew at the time, their skills and abilities, the resources available, and the situation at hand. — Norm Kerth, Project Retrospectives
But when I ponder upon my pondering, I might be giving it too much power over me. Is it self-aggrandizing and masturbatory to even think of yourself that highly? That my suffering grants beauty, and that I am just mourning over shit I thought I was right about? I make the love I grieve. I alone command the storms I brave through. Can I let go of the pain and terminate the storms with a flick of my hand?
I hate to say it, but the cure for addiction, the only cure I’ve seen… The cure for addiction is suffering. You suffer enough and then something inside you goes, ‘I’m done.’ — Ben Affleck
Pain is the initial sadness. Suffering is the story we attach to it. Perhaps I am emotionally sadistic — finding solace in knowing I have been sad, and will continue being sad. Maybe I am afraid to let go because that would mean it was all for nothing, that I wasted time over absolutely nothing. The suffering made it valid. But I don’t know how to end this sick ritual of mine, just like how I never learned how to stop gliding on ice. The momentum of the suffering just kept me going, and I am searching for the wall to stop myself from this madness.
The cure to pain is suffering. But the cure to suffering is forgiveness. Forgiving others, forgiving yourself. Maybe that’s the conclusion I’ve been circling this whole time.
Until I reach that point, I am staying on my knees to pray for forgiveness from God. Perhaps He is the only one who can let me forgive myself.