Happiness

I never believed in it.

To me, for the longest time, happiness seemed only an elaborate illusion that human beings came up with to justify not acknowledging the weight of being.

Which is not to say that i didn’t believe in a good time.

Far from it.

I lived fiercely, every choice at every moment only made by answering two questions.

Will it make me freer?

Will it be fun?

And I was able to live so fiercely because I knew, or believed anyway, that the brightness would always be followed by the dark.

But, I think I was only always so miserable that i was climbing highs just go fall straight into lows.

Chasing the thrill of escaping the burden of being, straight into drowning in the depths of what it means to be human…

It’s different now. The past couple of years, for too many reasons to get into anywhere, I am finally learning what it means to be happy.

And for the most part, I am.

Which brings us to the reason I’m writing this post.

I know most of you reading my posts here may think I’m always depressed af. But that’s just a thing. I deal with intense thoughts and feelings by writing about / around them.

I mean, it’s one of the ways I deal anyway…

Definitely the healthiest one, ah.

Just thought I should put that on record. Especially now that i am facing the first long dark tunnel of this new phase of my life.

It’s still a way away, but I can feel it reaching out to me, even as I move towards it, my shadow racing ahead and already merging with the darkness that awaits.

I can’t help but be a little concerned, because the old miserable & self destructive me had her own ways of navigating through these things.

Set yourself on fire and sail through, comfortably numb.

Happiness is a new burden… And I’m not numb anymore.

I’ll burn if I have to, though. I don’t think I can ever stop doing that completely. In fact, I think that’s what it means to live.

We burn for different things, using all our past experiences and present dilemmas and future anxieties to light up our path forward, for ourselves and for those we love. And we keep reemerging from those ashes until one day there’s just nothing left to give.

I don’t mind burning. Especially not now, when I have things and people worth burning for.

But i can’t help the desire, the itch, the need to cause myself enough pain so that i can no longer feel any of the hurt that comes from outside.

Ah, I guess the blame is on me.

But I’d rather be shattering glass than any sort of hammer…

Anyway, so, yeah. TLDR; I’m happier than ever, but I bleed misery through words to heal, hence the sadder my writing, the better I’m probably doing.

Cheers. And may you be happier too.

Peace out.