Why I Don’t Want Happiness

Is it crazy for me to say that I don’t want to be happy?

To me, happiness is a vanilla. So bland. So boring. So… Fleeting.

The opposite of depression is not happiness. It’s vitality.

I want something more than happiness. I want inner peace. I want to be able to wake up every day without the “mother” screaming at me for being lazy and pathetic, without the teenager being angry and angsty, without the child feeling fearful and needy, without the rational adult feeling like she’s going to collapse at any second from all the abuse and exhaustion of holding everyone together. I want to wake up every day just being me – with all parts intact and at peace. The “mother”, proud and happy to have a great “daughter”, the teenager, calm and energetic, the child, secure and safe, the rational adult, strong and steadfast. All of those parts of me – not happy, but rather stable.

I want to live. Underlying all of the death threats that I have given myself, underlying all the hopelessness, the despair, the pain… I am not afraid of death and would gladly welcome when it’s my time, but I don’t want to rob myself of that time. Despite the suicidal thoughts that’s ever creeping closer to being more than just thoughts, I want to live.

I hope that the next time I’m in the throes of despair and suicidality, I’ll come back and reread this. I can see a little glimmer of hope shining through, especially after today’s session with S. I can see it. It’s a glimmer, but it’s there.

 

Update: Oh wow, this is my 200th post on here. The timing is impeccable!

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