When it comes to depression, it’s typically the same manifestations: No energy, the desire to do nothing but sleep, and trying to tear myself away from the world.
Anxiety, however, presents itself within so many characters. One in particular is my fear of happiness.
What I mean is, I’m not afraid to be happy. I’m fearful that if I am happy, something bad HAS to happen, simply because nothing can be perfect.
I have a very good life now, and I recently thought to myself, “I have nothing to complain about…” and immediately after I started to feel that fuzziness, the static in my chest. The feeling that something bad is about to happen and the darkness that makes you so sure.
This particular anxiety, that something has to be wrong for all to be okay, has existed since I was a teenager. My parent’s divorce, followed by a tumultuous relationship with my mother and father, set into motion what will become a pattern of expecting things to be broken.
I hope it is something that in time will dissipate but meanwhile I will be consistently trying to tell myself it’s okay to be happy.
It’s okay to be happy.