i think i broke my ability to be happy. or i can’t find it, at least. or like a knob on an old radio that came off, and now i need a pair of pliers to change the station. but now instead of finding wonder in the world i’m just trudging my way through the days with my head down, working and always surprised at how fast time is going.
occasionally i’m given happiness, or happiness is thrust upon me, if you will. this doesn’t last because i don’t let it, because i don’t feel like i deserve it. i … i try to find these trigger words, words that elicit an emotional response when i think about them and their context. see, depression is like a flat gray blanket over everything, removing color and vibrancy from the world. the blanket is comforting but it also numbs you to everything. i’ve been so numb for so long that occasionally i will find these words or thoughts that will make me feel something, anything. the big one is “failure.” that’s the one that sits with me, my little road trip sidekick through life. the thought of failure piques a dreadful response in my gut, this heavy thought that it will never end, and the constant bombardment of anger that stems from my simple inability to get off my ass and find the energy i need to pursue what i want.
it’s a cycle. it’s a bad cycle. it repeats so often i wish i knew how to become an alcoholic so i could just stop dealing with it. instead i sit on the pedestal my father carved out of his sobriety. i am thankful for that, but still, it would be nice to just be happy for once, even if it’s via the use of chemicals.