“With Freudian analysis melancholy was considered a state in which the suffering subject falls in love with his own pain, holding on to it as a substitute for love.”
~Julian de Medeiros, Substack post~

They say the person you think of when you look out at the ocean is the person you’re in love with. I was telling this to my daughter as we walked along the shore. “Really. Interesting”, she said, then followed it up with, “You thinking about Dad?” Actually I was, very happy with this realization. “Yeah”, I said, “I was thinking about the trip we took down here once.” I was looking to see if I could recognize any of the places we’d been.

“I guess that means we’re in love”, my heart lifted and bright, and the words spoken almost to the point where it could’ve been an exclamation. “Woo!”, she said, and I smiled at her exclaimed response. “Well”, she went on, “That you’re in love with him at least.” Dang, girl. I don’t think she meant anything by it. “Right…”, I said, still walking.

The day was not going well and we could not move past this. “Dad”, I said, and all the things going on while also trying to be discreet. “I just don’t know why this particular thing, this pain, keeps coming back when I have asked God to heal it, to take it away…” “No.” What? “There is no asking God to take it away”. I was shocked. I thought he’d be proud of me for saying that. “You strap it to a rocket, blast it into space. You let it go.”