As someone who lives with clinical depression, happiness can oftentimes feel as elusive as calorie-free cake and world peace. There's an overwhelming idealism about the concept, an expectation of something far from reach, something far from real, something incredibly intangible.
Lately, I've been working to change the way I measure my personal happiness, both as a choice and a recovery goal. Stigma to the flames, I've been acknowledging, accepting and treating my illness. Unsurprisingly this decision has and will continue to make some people sick.
In the way that diabetics ration sweets, as a depressive, I've had to restrict my bitterness intake. Chances are I've taken a pill for you, if you've called in the past couple weeks with some suck in your teeth, some roll in your neck, and/or low octave levels in your voice. Not because I don't love you, but because I can't, "nunh uh", not right now.
Y'know, I've never really been much of an emotions juggler. I'm far too feeling for that sort of mental-tasking. Once it's in my hands, I hold on to it, usually far longer than I should. So, for now, I'm giving it back, putting the onus on the owner, banning the bitter, foolery is forbidden-I'm sure there'll be much more where that came from, as I get better at this.
It's Thursday, and that's my project. What parts of yourself are you working on?