I want to talk about being happy, and why I think I'm high in neuroticism. And how I don't really feel happy except sometimes. And why I think maybe I'm doing life all wrong.
I said a few weeks ago that I have had a good life and I'm very lucky – and this is true. I have had a blessed life and I'm grateful for it. One of the downsides of never having to overcome anything, however, is that I don't know how to overcome anything.
One of the things my ex husband used to do was try to quantify and compare our pains. He had had a terrible life and reminded me of it every time I asked him to do anything for me. Like he thought the universe owed him something. Maybe it does. Maybe I did.
Things he did hurt my feelings, like when he refused to make eye contact with me, or when he would disappear for days, or tell me I was bringing up the past just because I asked him the same question twice and got different answers.
My world fell out from under me on a weekly basis. I cried every day many times. But he had been through more than me. He didn't care because my world must have looked so nice compared to his. I think he hated me sometimes. Because I was so lucky. Because my family loved me, and my jobs were pretty successful, and I was beautiful. He made it pretty clear that he detested me.
I should be happy.
I hear that a lot. I ought to feel something. I ought to be able to put these things behind me. Why can't I just get over it and be grateful.
Some people break at an early age and they're tempered. I cry from time to time and I don't mind, because I don't want to kill myself anymore and that's all I dreamed of being is so happy I don't want to fucking die anymore. But it's never enough for anyone. I'm happy to be alive.
My ex is the only one in the world who could see who I am now for the miracle it is. I'm just a normal girl who cries sometimes to the rest of the world. But he could only see this miracle because he broke me so hard. No one else can see me. No one else knew me. We're the only ones who could be proud.
He ruined me for every man. To him I'd seem like a cheery soul like I feel. Happy, content, able to cope with my pain. My ever-present pain. My nightmares and my doubt and my uncertainty just normal pieces in anyone's life. I'm happy to deal with them. I'm lucky to have made it out at all. The only thing I could possibly bring him now is joy. The only thing I can bring anyone else now is despair.
But not all of me made it out. I'm still looking for approval and everything I left behind. That I can't find because no one can see me. No one sees me they just see me as I am now. Not all of me. Not my journey. No one else was there. There's no one to be proud of me.
I don't know what to do.
Being neurotic means you have a harder time overcoming negative emotions and focusing on the positive. It means that the bad things in your life will make you more upset than the good things will make you happy. I'm proud of how far I've come through hard times and I cry maybe a tenth as often. I'm fine with it.
But I was so sad that maybe this is still undesirable. Maybe I've come so far that my agony has turned to a quiet pain but still the only one who would want such a sad person is the one who made me sad.
I just don't think there's happier in the cards for me. And that's okay with me. But I think this is as far as I go on this road. Even meeting and falling in love with the perfect man didn't bring me back to life all the way. No one's gonna want me half dead. Except maybe whoever killed me. I think this is where I'll stand now; I've grown a lot and I like where I am. I like where I stand and I'm lucky to be here. And it's enough for me.