I’ll be honest, I’m nowhere near perfect. In my head, it’s a population for one and nobody else. I find myself so caught up in redundant or depressed emotions, I fall right off the map and continue spiraling. Fuck me. Fuck this. And fuck our capacity to make our own unique thoughts. The very enemy to your own mental health is your head and what goes on in there is for an audience of one.
I don’t think I truly knew what it meant to be depressed until a few years ago. I once blamed it on my dead end job and co-workers whom all hated my existence. Naturally, you find yourself failing and loathing the days. Yet, as you make your way up the hill and atop the mountain, you’re still missing that elusive feeling of happiness. Shit fucking sucks and it’s unexpected.
I call my more recent years ‘the search for happiness’. Admission made. Guilty as charged. Often, I think I discovered the next thing or person that would bring me happiness but I’m dumb as fuck and quickly realize I’m mistaken. What’s the deal? No one person will equate you to being happy. Not the love of your life nor a vault filled to the ceiling with hundred dollar bills.
Take a look in the mirror. Can’t we all say we know what we’re looking for? What we yearn and want? What we envy until it becomes jealousy? I despise my own family for the years of torment and suffering at their hands, but hating for the length of your life isn’t healthy or the correct path. I accept them for who they are and what they’ve become. Love and family aren’t on that list.
I want to be loved and to have the family that I oh so envy every time I’m invited over to a friend’s house. How I’ll find it is unknown and won’t be quick and easy. Some days I’m day dreaming for it and that’s quite alright.