Better?

Some say that happiness is a choice, but that isn't it at all. One cannot choose to be happy. One can decide to react as though one is happier. That may result in a better outcome to the day, but one is not choosing to be happy. It is only choosing to present a face less horrible for the time being.

Shouldn't I confront every issue racing through my mind so I can resolve them at 4AM? Confronting them isn't going to heal me or solve much. Confronting the people around me when the problem is only in my mind is toxic for all concerned.

I have depression. It is increasingly at lower levels thanks to medication and talking myself through Cognitive Behavioral Therapy in absence of an actual therapist. I used to indulge the depression because I thought that was the way to deal with it. Look the beast in the eyes, ask it what the hell it wants, and tell it that it had better back off because I am not the worthless one in this conversation. Only recently have I embraced turning my back on it without giving it the satisfaction of a fight. It doesn't have the strength to bite me much. Inside, I feel miserable, but I know that sharing this misery will not let company love me. It will make me feel like more of a burden, which may not be too far from the truth. I have not always responded warmly to those who lean on me only on their darkest days.

It is opposite action. It is why I instinctively smile when students stress me out, because it make more sense than giving into it. It puts me back into control of the situation and robs them of some of their power to be obnoxious little monsters. (Also, dislocating their expectations unnerves them.)

I have a well of sadness in me, some of which has actual foundations. I do not have to fixate on this because, for the most part, there is nothing I can do about it. There will always be this flow of sadness underneath my earth. I couldn't begin to find its source to dam it up. My attempts have taken away from my accomplishing anything else. It is not a battle I can win but through attrition, so there isn't sense in making it a daily war.

I do not need to present myself as the worst parts of my character. It is in me, but it need not be exterior. Why not fake it when indulging will help nothing?

I need to retrain my mind not to think this eroding anxiety is a necessity. When I coddled the neuroses, my mind came to think that this was the appropriate way to function. I was conditioning myself to dysfunction. Instead, I can feel the sickly tug and decide that I would rather be a good husband and teacher instead of a perpetual mope from October to March.

I am not a happy person. I have moments of it and certain talismans that, for reasons I cannot explain, cause me to remember to be happy (a turquoise bear, a fountain pen I have yet to be given, a song from the 90s). I use them sparingly so that I do not dilute their strength. I do not use them to beat back depression. I could not stand to have them associated with depression. Instead, I look at or listen to them to remind myself that I was and can be happy.

It is hard to talk about happiness without sounding like a greeting card. This is the burden of it. Hallmark has coopted all the good truths.

I don't know what but pretending makes happiness, but deciding that I am going to act as though I am fine to retrain my brain into allowing this. I am going to act happy because it gives the people around me a better experience than consoling me, which only lets me feel better in the short term while reinforcing bad patterns. If I create situations where those around me are happier, I will be capable of sustaining happiness should it comes.

It feels fake. It feels like repression. It feels like toxic coping. But it is better than dragging down my life. How can I let happiness into my life if I don't build a place for it to roost?

Happiness exists only in the moment. It is not something that can be remembered or anticipated. I spend too much time thinking back on times when I felt overwhelming happiness, times I cannot get back or approximate, but I can maybe be happy right now.

I talk of wanting to break out of routines, but it doesn't need to be wandering a French city in search of an underground concert. It can be as simple as seeing a pattern which hasn't worked and not following it again. It can be small and still be satisfying, still a choice toward a better mood. (That said, I am hardly averse to wandering a French city or finding an underground concert. Best not to let opportunities for miraculous happiness pass by, particularly having had so many of these canceled this year owing to the plague.)

I cannot make my life and relationships better by indulging my worst urges when it comes to my mental health. I cannot be a good person if I am calling myself a failed organism. I feel tension shooting from my neck to shoulders down my biceps to my forearms, feeling myself fighting this anxiety calling me a Pollyanna faker. I ignore it as best I can, secretly thinking that it makes good points.

There is a specious Einstein quote on how insanity is repeating the same actions and expecting a different result. Giving into my anxiety hasn't worked. Even if this feels inauthentic--even if I feel stick-slimy inside, rife with fire ants--I don't have to act that way. I can retrain myself to a happier demeanor. And maybe I will forget it is all an act.

last watched: Paranormal
reading: Geek Love