I can’t help but feel like my happiness exists as some precious resource – finite and infinitesimal.
That if I use it up, I won’t get it back,
That I’ll eventually run out.
So what if what I use it on
Isnt worth the investment?
I feel like my happiness is fleeting.
And that moments of smiles and laughter are just fillers between inevitable darkness.
That the good times are just enough to give me a small sense of hope
Until it’s taken away from me again.
So I resist feeling good.
It’s unusual to me
And I don’t want to feel deceived.
I don’t want to be tempted into a false sense of security,
When everything could come crumbling down again.
That’s the thing with mental illness,
It’s not all predicted by external experiences.
It prevents me from being comfortable in anything except sadness.
Because if I’m accustomed to the lows, I don’t have far to fall.
Sometimes the light looks brighter
after you’ve been in the dark for so long.
Maybe the point is to enjoy those moments
that much more,
To make up for when they were absent.
Maybe the point is that their absence reminds you of their importance,
And your ability to appreciate them.
Life is uncertain,
The dark and the light bits,
Just as mental illness is uncertain.
If you’re looking for certainty,
You’ll be searching for a while.
Maybe this is the key to helping us appreciate the highs and the lows.
When the good times come, live ferociously.
No investment of happiness is poorly made.
It’s concept is self defining.
So grasp onto joy with both hands,
Greet it with reckless abandon and soak up as much of the beauty as you can,
Because I guess we’ll never know,
when we’ll only have those memories to sustain us,
So we better make them good ones.