I feel as if I should be walking around with a notebook, creating reminders for myself so I have something to write later. But I feel as if, if I have to write them down their not worth mentioning.
Things that made me happy this week:
- So normally when I play music I play popular radio music. I listen to Drake, Beyonce, anything top 40. Saturday night I went to a bar where my kind of music wasn’t played. In fact I think I couldn’t name even five songs, but I was happy. I was with my boyfriend swaying side to side and just dancing with him. I had the biggest smile on my face. He always says soca music is the happiest music you will ever hear, but I never got into it. In that moment with the music so loud I couldn’t hear myself think, I was happy. I loved that music and I loved sharing that moment with him
- My boyfriend generally makes me happy every week, as he should. We are happy together and we do some weird stuff together. He is one of the only people I can really be myself around, and I was today. I made him sit on our bed and hold me up while I did extended sit-ups. Each time I came up he would kiss me and I would start giggling. It just made me smile.
- My friends also make me happy. I have this one friend who is probably one of the nicest people I know but has the darkest sense of humour. She’s going through some things but can always put a smile on my face and she consistently does.
It is surprisingly difficult to write about happiness, especially your own. This year I wanted to work on my happiness, I wanted to work on being happy. It is something I struggle with, my emotions are out of control, I worry about everything. I let things that are out of my control get to me.
I always think that there is someone out there who has it worse, and they are happy so why can’t I? I’m sitting here, with food, with money, with an education, and I’m not. I think I make problems out of nothing, and when I lose my breath and start crying over that nothing … I think I’m overreacting. I never jump to mental health, that is the last thing that comes to my mind.
I initially thought I would try talking to someone about it … a therapist. I’ve done it before but I ended up making up problems and dreading the minutes that go by. Those sixty minutes would drag on. Instead of talking about my actual problems, I lied. I was scared I wasn’t ready for a possible diagnosis, I wasn’t ready to share my truth, so I lied. I gossiped with her about trivial problems, and she never saw threw it. She believed everything I said, and was great at talking, but I didn’t solve anything. I’m not ready to be truthful with someone.
So instead of finding another therapist, I’m creating this blog. I’m going to take the time to write about things that make me happy, things that make me smile. Instead of worrying, I’m going to focus on being happy.
Be happy first.