SO I’m doing happy things; meeting up with some happy people and doing what I love to do. It’s been a while since I wanted to tell people the great time I had last night at a book rally or having people over to my house to talk about writing.
There’s a guilty feeling I have when talking to people who aren’t used to me being happy. People who are used to me sighing and complaining with them.
I’m afraid of being too happy and getting the silence when I said I made a great writing discovery or the “oh” when I say I’m looking forward to "tonight."
I’ve always done it, you see, when my friends were sad I always thought I had to be sad too, so I could be there for them so I wasn’t in their face with happiness. I remember “p” saying just because she was sad didn’t mean I needed to be sad too. That was the only time I ever had some one say that to me.
I’ve always made myself happy, no matter how sad, depressed or alone I was. A dance on valentines with a bottle of wine and a candle. A night out at the movies, a night out to listen to the sounds of the jazz festival. I didn’t lock myself away, but I couldn’t tell people I was having fun.
I’ve had people came to my side, if I’m sad or broken hearted. But people don’t want to hear when happiness sneaks in.
Or maybe I still have trouble talking about it. I get called a social butterfly and people sigh and say that they’re not doing anything. But I am. And want people to be happy, I want to talk about the happy things.
So I’m looking forward to the days ahead, the creativity and the laughter and the music. And I didn’t feel depressed about February like I have for the past 30 some years.