I’m Not High, that’s Just my Face

Have you ever scrolled through Instagram, thinking you’re on your search feed, seen a picture of an attractive person, only to realize you’re not actually on your search feed and that person is actually your best friend, and then begin bawling because you’re so happy that person still chooses to be friends with you even though they’ve seen you cry twice in the last two days?

Oh. No? Well, I have.

I have actually cried over a lot of ridiculous things in the past few days. On Saturday, I think I only stopped crying for a whole thirty minutes while I ate dinner at Costa Vida (‘cause sweet pork and rice is enough to be a short term fix for any problem, am I right?).


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I literally cried because this floor in an antique shop matched my shoes


So, to any concerned family, friends, or co-workers who have made comments, I promise I have not been high this week. Yes, the red, swollen eyes and constant sniffling may appear as if I have been partaking in some sort of illicit drug, but I assure you, I’m clean.

I’m sad. But I’m clean.

This post may take a familiar turn for a second, as I wrote something similar a month ago, but bear with me.

Last month I talked about my friends all getting ready to leave for college and me trying to prepare myself for staying here. Well, it has come to fruition; my friends have left and I’m still here.

For the first several weeks my life was so busy that I hardly even noticed. I was living my life. I was happy. I was fine.


“When all your friends are going off to college and you’re still here, casually blending into this wall.” -Me upon seeing this wall



Unfortunately, out of nowhere, it suddenly hit me while I was waiting for my lunch on Thursday afternoon. Outwardly, I’m living the life. My relationship with God is super great, I have a new car, I have a really easy course load at school (because not dying is good), work is fantastic, I literally have nothing to complain about. Nothing at all. Right?

The feeling started out very faint at first, but as the afternoon wore on, the feeling got worse. I got slap-happy and had a small fit of hysteric laughter that quickly led to me crying because my friend made a face at me. Once I had calmed down I got ridiculously lethargic and wanted nothing but sleep.

The odd feeling I could not describe continued throughout Friday and then onto Saturday (the day I couldn’t stop crying). I knew I was not depressed. I have walked through depression before, and with that, there are no feelings at all. This was much different. There was just an overwhelming sense of sadness…

Oh. I realized then…

I am sad.

I feel sad.

I feel alone. All of my close friends who I considered my safe people, people I feel comfortable being unapologetically me around, have gone off to school. Only two people are left, and neither are always accessible.

I feel trapped. It doesn’t matter what new color I paint my bedroom walls, what new type of bedding I purchase, or how often I move around my furniture, I am still living in the same tiny bedroom with the same window that holds the same view of the same houses that all look the same.

I feel unhappy.


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Maybe chocolate isn’t the healthiest way to deal with my problems, but it sure does taste good


And yes, I know without a shadow of a doubt that this is where I’m supposed to be. I know God is good. I know this is only a short season and I know the sadness will go away soon. “Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes in the morning.” (Psalm 30:5) Right. I got this down. I believe this is all true.

But as my cousin reassured me on Saturday, it’s okay for me to be sad. I’ve lost a lot of people in a really short amount of time. It’s okay for me to cry. I don’t need to feel guilty or crazy for feeling this way.

So as I try to process through these feelings which are quite strange to me, I want to encourage anyone who is reading this; it’s okay to be sad. Change is hard. Change can be beautiful if you let it, but it is still so hard.

It’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to look like you’ve smoked too much pot when in reality, that’s just your face. This is the whole reason waterproof mascara was invented!


One thought on “I’m Not High, that’s Just my Face

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