Deserving

Do you ever wonder, when joy comes your way, if you deserve it. If perhaps the fates got it wrong and that eventually, like an errant payment to a bank account, it’ll soon be rectified and you will return to the monotony or misery of yesterday.

I wonder.

I wonder if I am allowed to be happy and who gets to decide either way. I wonder if I am in control of my own happiness and if so, is that happiness ever actually real if I am the one to allow it to filter into my life.

I wonder what happiness is and if I’m doing it the right way. I wonder if wondering that is the antithesis of happiness in itself.

I question whether I am good enough and with each slip up, episode or swinging mood, I wonder why others would go to the effort of being anywhere near me.

I feel as though I am constantly passing and failing tests simultaneously. As I please one so I disappoint another.

I feel as though I am the hard task for others to uptake. I just show up and spend enjoyable time with them and they work hard to be with me, to tolerate the many facets of me, to cope with me… Do they dread another slip into the darkness as much as I do?

Do people ever get to the point in their lives where they have absolutely no insecurities? Is it possible to just be completely secure in your own being and not worry at all about the impact of your self on the lives of other people. What do I have to offer people? I have been empty, nothing but a vessel full of melancholy, for so long…

Happiness is seeping through the cracks in my emotional armour, unbidden and foreign to me. I don’t know what to do with the light that touches my soul but it warms me from the inside out and though I might question how deserving I am of it – I know I will hold on to it as long as it will have me. Security makes an attempt to follow but it will surely take time to penetrate my untrusting mind.

Is it time to admit that things are going well and stop looking for tragedy to strike?

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2 thoughts on “Deserving

  1. Lisa says:

    I wish I knew how to shut off the negative doubts and worries and insecurities that slip in and overshadow those moments of happiness. I wish I knew how to shut off the voice of the nasty inner critic. And no, I don’t think anyone ever get to the point where they have no insecurities. Those insecurities might change form over years, but there’s always something. The hard thing for me is bed time. I can have a beautiful, wonderful day, spent with loved ones, everything goes good, I’m happy, and then the light goes out, the eyes close, and I start cataloging all the things I feel I did wrong that day. All the ways I failed myself. The only way I can escape that is to lie there and force myself to start daydreaming whatever story I happen to be writing at the moment. Then I can escape myself by running away with the characters, who distract me. It’s taken me 50-odd years to figure out how to do that! I doubt you’ll believe me because we’re strangers, but you deserve these moments of happiness. Especially for your bravery in being so honest here in this blog. I hope the blog helps you realize that you’re not alone in how you feel, and in being strong enough to talk about it, you allow others to do the same.

  2. fishrobber says:

    Great post. I’ve had some of these same thoughts.

    Am I allowed to be happy? If the bipolar allows it, I guess. But I still have to accept the potential for happiness in the moment, so maybe I do have a measure of control.

    “Is it possible to just be completely secure in your own being and not worry at all about the impact of your self on the lives of other people.”: I don’t have a high opinion of people who don’t care at all about who they may affect. To be completely secure with yourself means you are insane or just an asshole. I think insecurities and empathy and a little humility make us better people.

    If things are going well, embrace it while you can. I’m no optimist, and I know things can go to shit in a hurry sometimes, but sometimes it’s nice to forget about all the crap and just be happy.

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