what it’s like to be happy

Happiness is a drug – or at least that’s how it should be advertised. Since finding happiness in this year 2017 (it was as if someone turned on a switch and I was instantaneously filled with  a deep awareness and acceptance for who I am) I have become cursed. Or maybe I’m just being dramatic.

Basically I have found that happiness is not all rainbows and unicorns. Or is it… since, technically, a world of rainbows and unicorns would not constitute a world of happiness for me? I guess that’s beside the point – happiness is relative. In my world where all roses have thorns and no one is true-intentioned, becoming delighted with life opened up a whole new way to view things matched with a brand new vulnerability. People don’t associate “happy” with “strong”. We’re always more threatening when we are hurt because we feel we have nothing to lose, and we’ll stop at nothing. Thus, I’m confronted with erratic panic attacks when I’m surrounded by people that intimidate me (fellow peers that have the potential to judge me, people I envy, etc.). It’s in my head, but I believe they can sense it. And what’s worse, my hesitation comes from a deep-rooted belief that happiness makes you a target.

I digress; back to my original thesis. Happiness – a typical Class Five drug, most say it can’t be bought (at least not at your local pharmacy).

When you shop, when you get that adrenaline rush from obtaining something you’ve wanted for so long, when things go right. These are the triggers, the little feelings we get addicted to without realizing the incriminating effects these actions have on the rest of our lives. Therefore, happiness should come with a “warning” label that is placed on all products, places, thoughts, ideas, dreams. And it should read as follows:

CAUTION: Happiness may result in side effects including but not limited to life evaluation,  extreme vulnerability, uncontrollable smiling, perpetual content, empty bank accounts, loss of appetite, gain of appetite, weakness in the mind and/or body, and the desire to do acts we might not have ever done otherwise.

I conclude with a final thought: if happiness is relative, then how do you know when you’ve really found it? Maybe I’m in between. Maybe my time hasn’t come. I’ll take being better than I’ve ever been over emptiness any day.

A life without happiness is no life at all.

MORAL OF THE STORY: Happiness might be worth the risk.




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