I Never Truly Had A Happy Memory

I have never truly had a happy memory. I have been in the back seat for most of my life allowing others to forcibly take the steering. I have never achieved love or success and stayed dormant throughout most of my life experiences--up until my separation from an abusive narcissist. I never really knew how to appreciate the breaths I took, and in waking I only wished to die. I never really saw the purpose of living, and even as a child, I was tired of fighting. Something happens in your soul when you exhale positive words over yourself and find the will to survive everything. I had let so many years go by unlived and accepted sorrow as my bosom friend that one day I decided to uproot every lie about my future that had been peddled to me that I willingly planted and let bloom. I dug up every tree that seemed okay to eat from and I built a bonfire and let new desires spark, and oh how the deadliness of nothingness did ash and the fire blazed images of new horizons that I wanted to see more of and fly hopefully beyond.

They were endless, you see, new realities sparked and flickering against the backdrop of horrible pasts burnt down. I suppose I do have a happiest memory after all, it's when I believed in myself, tore out of my cocoon or grave clothes if you will, and flew toward the gradient of an endless horizon. 

I never really understood what it meant to be happy, and for the longest time I believed it was what you had and in some cases who you have, but that's all wrong. Happiness is your mindset and your will to overcome the pain, the trauma, the hardship, and the sorrow. It's to know that it's okay to not be okay and to allow yourself to feel grief, to experience every emotion fully. To embrace your pitfalls, failures, and humanness. Happy isn't something you wait for, it isn't perfect. You just do it and let yourself have it. Why? Well, because you deserve to. Oh, and smile, that's the happiest thing to do.

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When I wrote the piece above, I believed the ending so much. I thought it was such a good write up. It was who I was, it was in my DNA. Smiling, being happy despite, being happy in spite of. 

I remember marveling at the genius of the thoughts so well expressed. Then I was rejected and told that I wasn't the right fit even though the requested piece was one that allowed freedom of expression-or perhaps not the right freedom of expression. 

I felt sad at first and then I realized it wasn't actually that good because I reserved and censored myself in fear of judgment. I did that because the last time I allowed myself to explode on a page I may have scared everyone who was unfamiliar with the darkness that had settled within my chest.