the Happy

Happiness has always been an uphill battle for me, a rarely attainable, frustratingly fleeting state of mind I’ve struggled to embody on a somewhat consistent basis since embarking on that oh-so-awkward journey from adolescence to adulthood. Over the years, I have met the frequent sadness and often paralyzing anxiety with a myriad of different attitudes in my attempts to cope with and, at times, combat these emotions. I have dismissed the despair as insignificant and somehow self-imposed, ignoring—unsuccessfully—its constant nagging. I have embraced unhappiness, and glorified it to justify my discontentment. And, more recently, I have fought fiercely against misery, desperate to finally and fully comprehend Happy.

A few days ago, my sister asked if I have ever truly been happy, and I was forced to confront the reality of my ever-so-sporadic, short-lived happiness, and its ever-present companion, Fear of Inevitable and Future Sadness. Speaking that truth was devastating, but also eye-opening and inspiring.

I used to believe I was made to be miserable, but I know now the error of that assumption. I am not supposed to be sad. Ask my friends (Hi Frans! Hi Leah! Hi T!) and my family (Hi Mel! Hi Dad! Hi Momda!)—I am an effing riot. Seriously. With or without whiskey, I’m hilarious . . . and humble. And I’ve been lucky enough to have people in my life who appreciate me for my sometimes-only-funny-to-me sense of humor more than my sometimes-down-in-the-dumps disposition.

I’m supposed to be happy, damnit. And if that means visiting my sister’s tree-hugging, naturopathic-doctoring professor to be poked and prodded and possibly acupunctured, then bring it on. I’m not looking for an excuse, but an explanation, a framework within which I can begin to heal by acknowledging the wounds—physical, emotional, spiritual—I have suffered, and the biological inconsistencies that may be contributing to my condition.

Happiness might never be easy for me. And some days I’m scared that this struggle will keep me from being loved. But while the intermittent sadness and occasional crying and the sometimes self-destruction are all a part of who I am, they are most decidedly NOT ME. Because, like I said, I’m hilarious. I know the Funny, and the Friendship, and—once in a while—the Smarts. I’d like to think I even know the Happy. The people who matter are aware of the hard part, but they love me for the laughing (Frans) and the spooning (Leah) and the bonding over bad TV (Mel). They are why I am still here.