"Be happy," he said. Like it's that simple. Like I haven't been trying. Like saying "be happy" erases the fact that I'm being put on the back-burner again, being used as a back-up plan, a last-resort when there's nothing better to do. Saying "be happy" is supposed to change the fact that he pissed me off again. Who says that? Who says, "be happy???"
"Be happy." I want to be happy. So desperately that I push too hard, ask for too much, move forward when I should hold back. I dive in when I should dip my toes and test the temperature. Happiness is like a delicate bubble. Beautiful and fragile and delicate. Filled with possibilities and dreams and shine. I want to reach out and hold it, touch it. But when I do, the bubble bursts and I am left with the mess and the disappointment.
"Be happy." I was happy once. I had everything I'd ever wanted. I was stupidly, ignorantly, trustingly, naively happy. I had a partner, a home filled with love, a job with direction, incredible children. I was happy. And it was a lie. And it was all ripped out from under me and I was knocked off my feet to tumble, stumble, crawl just to stand again. And now I'm left to wonder if that happiness was ever even real.
"Be happy." You would think I had been burned enough times that I would be more cautious, more slow to trust. But that's not me. I'm trusting, optimistic, and romantic. I'm naive and headstrong, and impulsive and direct. I jump and fall flat on my face. They say to trust your gut. But I don't think mine can be trusted. My gut tells me to run on in when I should be surveying the scene. So I should use my head? But I over think every little thing. Over analyze, over plan, over strategize. I'm so afraid of doing something wrong, of messing this up - again. I know everything is not always my fault, but why do I feel like it is?
"Be happy." It's a work in progress. A baby step every day. Sometimes it's two steps forward, one step back. Sometimes it's more of a dream, a goal, than a reality. Sometimes it's not doing anything even when I desperately want to do something. Sometimes it's making up my mind to be it, even if I don't necessarily feel it. Maybe if I go through the motions and put on a brave face, the feelings will follow. I'll say that I'm happy because that's what I'm supposed to be. That's what everyone wants to hear. That's what a strong, independent, amazing woman would say. She wouldn't say that she's lonely, frustrated, impatient, heartbroken. She would say that she's just fine being alone and that she knows she is better off. She would say that she's happy and has so many fulfilling people, activities, pursuits, and dreams in her life. I just continue putting one foot in front of the other in this common, human, vague pursuit to "be happy."
"Be happy." I want to be happy. So desperately that I push too hard, ask for too much, move forward when I should hold back. I dive in when I should dip my toes and test the temperature. Happiness is like a delicate bubble. Beautiful and fragile and delicate. Filled with possibilities and dreams and shine. I want to reach out and hold it, touch it. But when I do, the bubble bursts and I am left with the mess and the disappointment.
"Be happy." I was happy once. I had everything I'd ever wanted. I was stupidly, ignorantly, trustingly, naively happy. I had a partner, a home filled with love, a job with direction, incredible children. I was happy. And it was a lie. And it was all ripped out from under me and I was knocked off my feet to tumble, stumble, crawl just to stand again. And now I'm left to wonder if that happiness was ever even real.
"Be happy." You would think I had been burned enough times that I would be more cautious, more slow to trust. But that's not me. I'm trusting, optimistic, and romantic. I'm naive and headstrong, and impulsive and direct. I jump and fall flat on my face. They say to trust your gut. But I don't think mine can be trusted. My gut tells me to run on in when I should be surveying the scene. So I should use my head? But I over think every little thing. Over analyze, over plan, over strategize. I'm so afraid of doing something wrong, of messing this up - again. I know everything is not always my fault, but why do I feel like it is?
"Be happy." It's a work in progress. A baby step every day. Sometimes it's two steps forward, one step back. Sometimes it's more of a dream, a goal, than a reality. Sometimes it's not doing anything even when I desperately want to do something. Sometimes it's making up my mind to be it, even if I don't necessarily feel it. Maybe if I go through the motions and put on a brave face, the feelings will follow. I'll say that I'm happy because that's what I'm supposed to be. That's what everyone wants to hear. That's what a strong, independent, amazing woman would say. She wouldn't say that she's lonely, frustrated, impatient, heartbroken. She would say that she's just fine being alone and that she knows she is better off. She would say that she's happy and has so many fulfilling people, activities, pursuits, and dreams in her life. I just continue putting one foot in front of the other in this common, human, vague pursuit to "be happy."
