Sadness is not something you can control.
I guess I never really thought of it this way, because it’s an emotion. I can be happy and I can be angry and I can be scared, but I can shut all those off. So why can’t I shut off sad?
I guess I never really realized what my sadness was or is. It’s like a permanent cloak covering my body. Like waves of sadness rolled onto the shore I was lying on and covered me in the shade of blue. And even though I laugh at jokes and smile with my friends at the end of the day I lay down and I’m still blue.
I was still blue when I was laughing. Still blue when I was smiling. Blue in my first period class, and blue when I took a shower. No matter how hard I scrub it’s still blue.  Sadness is funny.
And I guess you really would call it depression. Because I guess you can turn sadness of too. But for me it’s been so present in my life I guess I’ve kind of forgotten that.
But just because I’m blue does it mean I’m destined to a life of depression? Have I been sentenced to my bed for eternity, to sit in the darkness alone once again, loathing on self-esteem and a lack to get up?
I did not remain prisoner to a razor nor the voice nagging in my head that I was too fat to eat. So why must I remain prisoner to the blue covering me?
Maybe my blue cannot be erased, or wiped off, but it can be covered.
I can cover blue with yellow. With the laughter of my friends, or my baby brother. Or the way my mom smiles at me when I tell her I’m passing all my classes with A’s and B’s and even C’s and she’s still proud because I’m passing.
I can cover it with Red. With the things I’m passionate about. How I really want to start playing violin and how I need to take up sewing again. My favorite rappers and movies. My dreams of traveling the world and making an impact.
I can cover it with Pink.  Meditation and yoga. Understanding myself and learning more about who I am and who I want to become. Nourishing my body creatively and mentally. Read peoples words on their life and what their meaning to everything is.  Come up with one of my own.
Maybe I can never stop being blue. Maybe the wave of sadness will never leave my body entirely.  And maybe that is okay. Because although I’m blue, it’s not who I am. I am red and yellow and pink too. And depression has no longer become my disability, but a canvas.