It’s a trap 

There is no escape

When caught in love’s cruel snare 

Run while you still can. 

  

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Being happy…

People have always made being happy seem so easy. But for me happiness has never been something that I have enjoyed in anything more than a fleeting embrace.

After wallowing in guilt, grief, self-pity (and many other such emotions) for the first 3 years after my boyfriend died, I finally tried to make a conscious effort to try to be happier. But even prior to his death (and the deaths of other close friends) I had never really been truly “happy”.

To some extent going to nar-anon family meetings aided in this attempt to find happiness since the positivity of group members started to rub off and my sponsor is very encouraging regardless of if I am working steps or not.

Last year I did the one picture a day challenge for the whole year as well as write down one good thing that happened everyday. This year I continued with the writing one good thing down that happened and if nothing really happened I would just put “relaxed at home”. I still love taking pics (as evidence by this blog) but it’s not necessarily done everyday.

But really it is effort. I wonder if it ever gets easier for people like me who’ve always found it hard to be happy with their lives even if things are going as good as can be. Or will I just always be anxious, angry, depressed about things that have or have not ( or have not even) taken place.

I feel like I always need to record events, read inspirational apps on my phone or keep busy for the rest of my life in order to escape the feeling that life is senseless. Being truly happy can’t be this hard.

I don’t know that there is any answer to what true happiness is but I know it isn’t this. The feeling is always so short lived – a perfectly good day could still lead to a dreadfully depressing night for no reason.

Today in a restaurant I heard a baby laughing. It was the purest, happiest sound – absolute joy in its utter abandon. A feeling I can’t remember really having. I wonder if I will ever experience it before my time here is done.

Monotony / Mediocrity 

I’m at the point where I just don’t feel. As in… I don’t feel to talk about my addict or I don’t feel to talk about my depression or I don’t even feel to necessarily write. 

The monotony of experience is one that always bothers me. Yet here is another year more than half way through… No closer to a relationship with someone or any idea of what else I want to do in life. 

The only thing I’ve probably ever wanted to do otherwise was be a writer. Well, a published writer. I am nowhere close to that, this blog is the closest I’ve gotten to being a “writer” and it’s more a jumble of musings and ideas than something structured. 

I hope that one day I will be able to do that… But then what will that leave me? I won’t know what to even look forward to try to do! 

Everyone talks about so much opportunity in the world but being co dependent on a parent, suffering from anxiety, already rooted in a job for eleven years… Doesn’t exactly allow for the easiest of movement to “the world out there”. 

I’m not young anymore. I didn’t have the knowledge or wherewithal when I was young to make the decisions I should have made back then that could have made my life so different. So I’m left where I am now, a bit regretful. Which isn’t to say it’s in a bad place, it could be much worse, but it… Feels mediocre. 

And I don’t “want” mediocre. I want to feel zeal in my job everyday, I want to feel passion for some lover if I ever meet them, I want to feel excited to face everyday even though I didn’t migrate/ move anywhere. I want to be overjoyed in just being me and not settle for less than what I want. 

I know it still comes down to acceptance. I need to accept who I am first before I can even begin to like, far less love, that person. But I still feel as if I’m waiting for something to “happen” … But maybe it’s happening all now and I’m just not capable of seeing it?  I feel like I still need the veil to be lifted so that I can see the true meaning in why I’m alive and find the will to dream. 

  

Summer Night 

The late August heat blankets my tiny house, oppressive and sticky. The air is dry and unrelenting. Old people would say the hurricane to the north “sucking all the moisture” from the air. A pall of stillness, leaden, is broken only by the drunken movement of eager blood-sucking Mosquitos, dipping and swaying from body to body. 

Out on the make shift verandah I lie wrapped in a mesh hammock trying in vain to catch an errant night breeze. Beads of sweat cluster on my forehead before racing down the sides of my cheeks. The heat is a relentless master and we mere servants under its weight. Not even the ominous white owl that haunted the guava tree was out tonight. 

I close my eyes and listen keenly to the faint neighbouring sounds… The bark of a fretted dog, shouts of drunken men gambling at a corner, the shrill cry of a hungry uncomfortable baby… 

I would often lie here a stranger to the realm of dreams and think of what else might lie outside of the swelter. What sort of people? What types of lives? What sort of places? All I knew was this village within this tiny island surrounded by a vast ocean. 

Daylight does not allow for the luxury of thoughts. Up at sunrise, work the land all day, no rest till sundown. Only then can I cast an eye on my growing brood born of brief, uneventful coupling with a woman I have mixed feelings for – anxious little faces with large questioning eyes. 

I am trapped. Those eyes haunt me in the night… I feel as capable of escape as an agouti pinned by Old Man Govia’s hunting dogs. Eyes wide with terror, teeth bared and body shuddering is how the morning meets me each day. 

The screams of the mosquitoes grow louder in my ear echoing far into the recesses of my brain. I feel the suffocation of life grip me and squeeze… Squeeze… Harder… Until I scramble to sit up in my hammock, panting heavily, wiping that annoying sweat from my face and gasping for reason. 

Suddenly a shadow hovers over me and I am drawn to the sight a huge moth dancing his saga boy dance over my head. He dangles, pirouettes and twirls oblivious to the trappings of the earth below. I watch him as he flies off into the distance, lost amidst the towering bay leaf tree – leaving me behind… To wonder at the sights he will see while I am here with all these hungry eyes watching me.