The answer is clear, I am not. I like waking up every day, I don't spend days in my bed not leaving my room much like some time when I lost everything I loved. Life is good to me. My journey through this life has been impeccable and exactly what I would always hope for a life although often hard. Happiness comes from knowing all this, and being grateful for it. Since I know how to do that, I believed I'd never be unhappy again which might or might not stay true. The thoughts that came into my head today were of a different nature though. They were not thoughts, they were feelings. And I haven't had any in a long time.
The reason it is so easy to be happy is that I count my blessings every day and on paper, they look great. Anything other than happiness when living my life would be outrageous. But today I remembered that I am not that person that looks at a sheet of paper and assesses; I'm the girl that closes her eyes and tries to feel. I don't meet people by talking, I don't make decisions by making pros and cons and I rarely ever think about what is "the right thing to do". I have a gut, a body of intuition, and it has seldom let me down. That's where I come from, that's who I am. And as fragile and vulnerable feelings are, this part has stayed concealed from people for many years. In the last year, however, I have hidden them so well I didn't even find them myself.
I said in an earlier post that I think I had learned from the Brits. Their forceful hiding of anything that can be traced to true, raw and life-changing emotion was a way of thinking I had not yet acquainted myself with. I thought maybe, just maybe, my heart leading the way was not the right thing. In the past 390 days of being in this country, I have told many tales, but never the truth. Because the truth is how I'm feeling, how I see the people around me, how very much in love I am with things I cant have. I showed nobody, except for two or three five second breaks where emotions forced their way out, namely in the shape of tears. Almost! But I swallowed them, in true British fashion. There were no tears throughout times that should go down as my hardest. I don't have to get into how that is ridiculous for someone who feels like me.
This hiding of the essence that is me, a cesspool of emotion, feeling, passion and often melancholy, didn't happen voluntarily. I often pride myself on my bravery, having done so many things people are scared of. Most of my peers think I'm a badass because look, that sheet of paper with all my daredevil moves suggests that I am. Having said that, I am scared to feel. So much so that I haven't done it. To really allow myself to acknowledge what has recently happened to me would guarantee feelings, and not the good kind. So I just don't. No acknowledgment of those I love, no acknowledgment of probably the biggest heartbreak of my entire life, no acknowledgment of the anger I feel towards someone who almost ruined my life. I am happy, thats all that mattered.
Happiness is like a drug; I didn't want to let it go. I was able to fool myself into happiness for a year by running away from everything that could threaten it. But now, I'm losing the race. They're getting faster and I'm getting slower. I stayed idle for a long time not changing anything about my situations, sometimes relationships, so that I could keep riding the wave of happiness. Instead, I should have gotten off the wave when it made sense. Sometimes it's right to not be okay. I should really have acknowledged that a while ago and not hide it from myself. It might be the easier way of living, but it isn't mine. I don't write a sheet of paper, I write chronicles. Everyone who has ever seen a glimpse of the part of me I call emotion here has seen the four or five-page letters I compile to express one feeling I have on one given day. In order to be me, I need the chance to write these Chronicles. To write the Chronicles, I need these feelings. And they are forcing their way out now...