Drug of the Ages

Honestly, I'm not pretentious enough to think I'm anything special. People have constantly told me that I'm special over the years--obviously a natural response to children and especially teens with lower self image. But I have a hard enough time trying to figure out what normal means. I'm always thinking to myself, is that what a normal person would say/think? How do people suddenly get these concrete "friends for life" relationships? Why doesn't doing this certain thing I've seen everyone else do have the same successful result for me? And so on.

I really don't care what people wish I would be, or the life they all tell me I'm supposed to have. Nothing in my world has panned out smoothly or with "happy" endings. They just seem to resign themselves to a corner until they are required to become a more pressing and obnoxious matter.  Pleasant little "moments" show up, but before I have a chance to cherish and relax in them, they vanish. I don't sail, I don't fly, I just pretty much make it by. Well-wishers tell me they want me to be happy, but I'm not sure if that's for me.

Not to say I don't have great things in my life: a loving and caring husband who is always there for me and without whom I wouldn't be able to face another day, the sweetest cat/child/dog to care for and love and keep me entertained, a somewhat dysfunctional but endearing family, and friends who care enough to check up on me once in a while. You might ask how I can be a Christian and not be happy. I used to be the girl who would give an arm and a leg to feel this thing that everyone called "happiness". But I know I have a God who accepts me, loves me, and forgives me when I screw up--if anything that gives me a content and satisfied feeling. He made me the way I am, so isn't there a chance that I wasn't wired to experience happiness? And I think I'm okay with that. I know some who aren't so friendly with me would be overjoyed to hear that I'm not happy, but it doesn't mean I'm unhappy.

Confusing, I know. I see happiness like a high. Some people live their entire lives just on a happy high and everyone loves them and wants to be around them, because they make people feel like the sun is always shining. And that is great for them. Awesome. But it isn't me. Sometimes, my smiles are fake. Sometimes, I can't stand people or life or any of it. It doesn't mean I don't have positive times. But cloud nine just isn't for me. I think "happiness" constitutes a sort of blindness. Some people are so busy being happy that they can't see other people's pain. I'm not the person that bounces around you with a goofy grin on my face saying, "It's ok! Be happy!" I'll sit next to you on the curb, not say that cheesy line--I know how you feel--put an arm around you, and tell you that the hurt doesn't last forever. Just because I'm not constantly happy, doesn't mean I don't wish it for others. I don't want them to feel pain like I do, or random sadness, or sleeplessness because they're unsure of where they fit into this world.

I've had a lot of names thrown at me, either things people perceive me as or want me to be. Thief. Rock star. Inattentive. Gold digger. Copycat.  Addict. Not good enough. Genius. Child-bride.  Rebel.  Hopeless. Weird. Adult. Beautiful. Stupid. Happy. Asthmatic. Naive. Awful. Fat. Gifted. Immature. Amazing.  Anorexic. Fun. Untalented. Sweet. Liar. Life-saver. Whore. Christ-like. Hateful. Inexperienced. Dreamer. Schemer. Stalker. Pure. Soulless. Best Friend. Depressed. Teacher. Wanna-be. Faithful.  I haven't made any of these up. So many labels, names, and put-downs, I've honestly lost track. Most hurt, and the rest feel like they should be about another person. It's ridiculous. How could people expect me to keep up with all that when all my energy is focused on being human? After seeing all that, could you possibly understand why I can't afford to care? A person could go mad.

I don't grant myself titles that I can't deserve or just don't desire to don. I simply accept who I am and that sometimes I don't make sense. I don't have to. If you think about it, I don't owe anyone a damn thing except to tell them that they aren't alone and love isn't impossible. And after I do that, I sit down and am thankful for those few people who don't try to change me, tell me who I'm supposed to be, or manipulate me. They are content with me arriving to the party as myself and no one else, and don't require any more of me. The conversations and moments I have shared with those few have been the most positive points in my life and are treasured dearly. That is the closest thing to happiness.