The girl on the grill

I read the story of the girl whose hair was firmly stuck to the grill of the train in a mess of blood and flesh, with a certain relish.
Pedro was singing his particular brand of tragicomic tail stinging tunes, and the image of the girl standing back to the train on an orange autumn evening was branded onto my brain, sizzling between my synapses.
I'm sure she bit her lip and squeezed her eyes and fists in one last frustrated plea for that salvation that never seems to come, as the train, whistles screaming, wheels gritting their teeth, bore down on her in those final moments.

I play these images in my head repeatedly, and I do get an unusual sort of satisfaction by retaining the emotion this raises in me.
I've never thrived on happiness. There is a slipperiness to happiness that always threatens to slide out from under my feet, and I'm perpetually waiting for the fall.
Its when I'm sad that I am most comfortable. A dependably heaviness that wraps itself around me like an old coat warming me in melancholy.

Before you write me off as another emoslashmywristshatemyselfteenangstgoth hear me out.

There is an honesty in sadness. I don't mean your average hallmark cheesy "i've got cancer and i'm dying and all my husband wants to do is dress in woman's clothing" bullshit.
I mean the sadness that is in us all. We're all hurt in some way or another, and its a line we can all follow to each other. We can all connect when we talk about our hurt, we can all empathise.

I've always been drawn to sadness, be it in music or movies or books. And more recently I've been drawn to what I'll call "redemptive sadness".
An honesty, not emotional bombast, that calls everyone out of their calcified hearts for a just a brief moment to face themselves.
I've always dwelled in my sadness. Sometimes to the point of unhealthy depths, and I almost always didn't enjoy it.

"Do you know what it's like to fall on the floor
And cry your guts out 'til you got no more
Hey man now you're really living"

Not the greatest song, but today at the photocopier the words behind the cheery handclaps struck me for the first time, and I thought I'd include them here as an anchor of sorts for my floundering words.

I've been pretty up and down the last few days and the symptoms point to something I've not had for a good while now. I don't dare to even think of what it could mean if I'm right, but the thought has been flashing in the periphary like a warning light or a parking brake symbol.

For now, I'll meditate on the plight of that nameless girl who knew she'd never find what it was she needed.

There is comfort in her death.