Honestly, I don't know how to be happy. I don't. I don't know how to be content with my lot. I don't know how to do all the things that would make being happy easier because I don't see happiness as the end all be all of my existence and it simply is not a priority. I want more.
And I've stopped giving a fuck about people who feel the need to tell anyone who will listen about their happiness. I don't know who they trying to convince more. Me or themselves?
I have learned a lot more about myself through struggling and fighting every inch of the way though. I've learned much more by being upset, and angry, and enduring long depressions... and through long periods of disappearing and isolation. I will find a way back to myself, and the way is long... and hard, but I can't have it any other way.
I couldn't deal with it if it was "easy." And yes, I do frown on easy things because there's no fire in it. No passion. It's a half life to me.
I never do anything half way, half asked, or half hearted.
I am not happy and I admit freely I don't know much, if anything about happiness.
I do know joy though. There is a WORLD of difference between experiencing joy and experiencing happiness.
My joy is... uncontrollable and when I feel it, however briefly, I feel the need to spread it as far and as wide as I can. It feels like my body is not enough to contain that feeling. I'll thank you for your existence and tell you I love you and every bit of your being... because those brief moments of joy bring out all of the affection I have and in those moments I have no fear. I'll stretch my feeling across the atlantic and call you at two AM just to tell you what a gorgeous person you are and how grateful I am to have you in my life.
My joy expresses everything my being has been trying to say from the start but my mind won't allow to come out.
I know how to be who I am and it is more a matter of someone's acceptance of who I am that determines the amount of who I am that gets revealed. There?s a trust issue there. I'm a point a view and some people don't want to look at this point of view.
We're going to jump again.
I?m tired of feeling guilty for my head rolling across the platform.
I was no judge. I was not in the jury. I didn?t even have much to do with the executioner. I did not know my executioner when I walked up the stairs. No, I was not like Anne and was blessed with a small neck.
I didn?t even have a thousand days.
You have to give me everything, but everything's not enough.
It's my desire, to give myself to you. Sometimes.
Sometimes I try.
Sometimes I lie.
And I crossed the line.
A line I drew in sand.
Still you give me everything.
And everything's not enough.
I'm ready but not willing.
To give myself to you.
Come on over.
Lay down beside me.
And I'll try.
I want it all.
How will I ever get to heaven now?
[It will be 18.5 Days II tomorrow.- No, take your morbid curiosity elsewhere.]