Hope Contagium

A therapy journal of self-obsession, depression and meaning.

Tag: happiness

Living Now

I’m so freakin’ happy. Crush my dreams tomorrow, but today I’m happy.

Happy Moments

I know that I don’t know myself. I heard many times that the depression is not you. But then who are you? Who am I? Screaming in tears from despair seems more right to me. Tragedy is reality. As if I feel more comfortable in misery. Nobody feels that way… It can’t be true? Maybe my sorrow is just so familiar that when I fall into it I feel a certain peace. It calms you to know that everything sucks and will end up bad instead of being uncertain and hopeful in your good state of mind. It’s hard for me to think back at happy moments in my life. Partially because I’m sad things haven’t lasted and partially because I can’t remember them. I’ve had good times – of course. But does anything stand out? Levin has brought me much joy. The other day I was crying from my longing for love and affection and I asked him:
“Are you tired of comforting me?”
“No. I’m tired of you feeling bad,” he answered washing away my guilt. Later I asked him to name one, just one, who loved me for who I am. He said, “Me.” Both answers perfect and exactly what I wanted to hear. What I needed to hear. These were not happy moment; they were beautiful and I will cherish Levin’s words.
The next thing that pops out while I browse through my thoughts is the time I worked with children. Playing, teaching, learning with those 0-3 year olds was absolutely amazing. I love children. They do fill me with joy. But then I remember that I probably won’t know my little brother in this age I love the most and I become melancholic.
Swinging. Role-playing. Diving into my imaginary land. Some music. Films. Naruto. Clothes. All things that make me happy. Sometimes happy memories make me happy – just not right now. I’m not sad or depressed, I guess I kind of feel nothing.
Oh! Babushka and Dedushka! They also make me feel happy – but sad. For a long time I’ve felt unpleasant in happiness. I know it will end again (the happiness) so it feels fake or deceiving. Actually I kind of hate being happy – even if it’s just a little happy. But then again, are these my feelings or my depression’s? I don’t think I know who I am or how to find me.
I dreamed about being completely full of happiness because I was in my favorite town, in my favorite country. As far as I know this place doesn’t exist, but even though I was all alone I was truly joyful. Then my dream changed or I woke up. Looking back at it, the feeling and the place in my dream seem scary. As if something was not right in my brain… So I guess not even my dreams can trick me into feeling happy. Even if it felt so real for a moment.

Balance

It is too often the quality of happiness that you feel at every moment its fragility, while depression seems when you are in it to be a state that will never pass. Even if you accept that moods change, that whatever you feel today will be different tomorrow, you cannot relax into happiness as you can into sadness. For me, sadness always has been and still is a more powerful feeling; and if that is not a universal experience, perhaps it is the base from which depression grows. I hated being depressed, but it was also in depression that I learned my own acreage, the full extent of my soul. When I am happy, I feel slightly distracted by happiness, as though it fails to use some part of my mind and brain that wants the exercise. Depression is something to do. My grasp tightens and becomes acute in moments of loss: I can see the beauty of glass objects fully at the moment when they slip from my hand toward the floor. ‘We find pleasure much less pleasurable, pain much more painful than we had anticipated,’ Schopenhauer wrote. ‘We require at all times a certain quantity of care or sorrow or want, as a ship requires ballast, to keep on a straight course.’

 – Page 24, The Noonday Demon (2001), Andrew Solomon

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