Happiness, A Revolving Door
Since when is being happy a problem? Since never, right? Now I know, I know…She’s going to start down-grading happiness? What the hell do I see in this BS?? But hold on to your panties, I haven’t finished my thought.
See, lately, things have been going really well. And I don’t mean to jinx it or whatever, but my stress has from constant to fleeting, my parents and I are on good terms, I’ve picked up more hours at work, and I am currently involved in fantastic relationship. It’s been great! Hell, yesterday I spent a little time cleaning my room, even.
Depression-wise, I feel like I am kicking ass. But that’s been rough coming out of my mouth in group therapy, because how do you revel in your joy and help someone who might not recover at the same time?
My group therapy is the same people every night, once a week. You start to get to know these people, and trust them with your problems, and pow! You suddenly care for a person you don’t know the last name of, as much as people who knew you back when you were playing Barbie’s. Only you do know what they think about as they cry themselves to sleep or when they wake up each morning.
It’s this girl Susannah. She’s super quiet but the observant, practical type. You know she’s bad ass underneath her catholic school uniform. She’s the person you can exchange a smile with and immediately know you’re both thinking the same thought. I’ve been in this group with her six months now, and she has never missed a single meeting. Guess what? She missed a meeting.
Okay, okay, no big deal. Just catch her around next time, right? Sure, sure…except she hasn’t been doing so well for weeks. And as much as your heart begs and pleads to help her, she won’t let you pry her open, though she accepts your care. It’s damn frustrating and damn saddening. When you have smiled that fake smile as many times as I have, you know it when you see it. And I see it every time me and one of the other members stay behind and say, “If you ever need anything, or anyone to talk to…” and when she says, “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be fine”. I have said that before. “I’ll be fine” is a wistful statement, one that leaves the rest of the sentence unspoken: “I hope.” It’s something to say when you’ve been caught in the sadness and don’t want to go the whole emotional crying route. It’s the way you buy yourself time. Time before the rest of the whole realizes you will not be fine.
So in group I’ve held back a lot of what’s been happening in my life. Happy people can just really suck dick sometimes, if you’ll pardon my french. And in there, I let myself remember how far gone I truly have been, so I am able to help others more. Out in the world, I let myself be happy for me (whether that’s a grammatical statement or not), and can have nothing to hide.
It’s funny, whenever I’m sad I shut the world out and keep the group in. But I just never knew it worked both ways.