“… happiness is typical rather than unusual.”
I was dumbfounded. Really? Happiness is typical?? I sat in awe, struggling to rationalize the words. Now, I like to think that I’m not an ignorant person – I know that not everyone suffers from debilitating depression and regular suicidal thoughts, and I know that there are always going to be those annoying freaks that are constantly content with their lives … but to say that happiness is typical just shocks the hell out of me.
And so I wonder. What it must be like to be happy. Truly happy. The kind where being happy is your ‘normal’ … the kind where depressed thoughts are the unusual, because they happen so infrequently. I wonder how my life would have been different had I been one of those people, and I wonder if all the medication in the world could have actually done what they had promised.
See, I am not a happy person. I never have been. I have had spurts of happiness, though I must say that many of them were just episodes of mania disguised as elation. I have had moments that I had hope; ambition; belief in myself and my life. Times where I rose out of bed with positive force, delighted to be alive. But those are the unusual moments. Those are the few-and-far-between times where I wonder just what the hell is going on.
My “typical” is like today: I wake up every few hours at night, worrying. When morning arrives, I lay there physically unable to move. Getting up means living; getting up means fighting. And I have no fight left to give. I climb out of bed and go to the bathroom. I avoid my reflection because I don’t need to see the rot that I feel. It is constant; the physical pain I always feel is the result of years of neglect. I don’t need to see it in the mirror. I go to the bedroom to get dressed. Why shower? I put on my usual sweat pants and black sweater. All black. Always. I sit down to my computer. Check messages. Check my blog. And I spend the rest of the day worrying; solemn face. Sometimes, I’m not sad. You don’t have to be sad to be depressed. It just is the way that it is, and it’s been that way for as long as I can remember. Very rarely, I will experience a feeling of happiness … but I quickly remind myself that it will be gone in an instant, and then it is. I try and avoid most all contact with other human beings, because I do not want to face whatever they have to offer. They are always judging me anyway. Sometimes, sometimes I will want to cry. I will want to cry and pull my hair out and run knives all over my body. But I don’t. Not because I have outgrown all of those things, but because that takes energy — something that I have very little of these days. And I always think about dying. If I will ever attempt suicide again, or how I hope a cancer is silently growing inside of me.
Medication wasn’t something I wanted long term. Therapy was a waste of time & money. Drugs and alcohol just made things worse. Writing helps … in the moment. All of these things that some people swear by. That heal. That cure. All of these things never worked for me. I was unhappy before and unhappy after. I am just an unhappy person … and probably always will be.
So I think about that quote, about happiness being typical, and I cannot help but smirk. They really want to tell me that 9 out of 10 American’s are “very happy” with their lives? Either I am living in the wrong country, or we have some real good liars here.
What do you think? Is happiness unusual?
And check out Is Sadness the Same Thing as Depression? by Weirdo.