I am not always happy. I am not always self-assured. I am not always pleased. I am not always functioning as I should. I am not always okay, and that should be okay, right?
Expectation is a very fickle thing. If people are used to you being sullen and out of sorts then it is okay for you to be sullen and out of sorts, to show your weakness like a badge. Look at me. I am always sullen and out of sorts, you say. I envy those people. They don’t have to explain their moods like I do. But I created the monster and now I have to feed it, right?
If you met me right now, at this very moment, I might appear happy to you, effervescent even, but I’m not. At this exact moment I am depressed, and for a number of reasons. And I’m wearing my normal face so you won’t ask me about it, about what’s wrong, because I can’t even really explain it. Life is just kicking my ass right now, but I’m not one to complain. I grin and bear it.
So yes, I seem happy but I’m not. Far from it. But I wear my mask that rarely slips, and when it does is when I have to explain. Do you know how difficult that is to do when you’re depressed? Damn near impossible. And it seems to be slipping more lately, to my extreme chagrin. You see, I want so desperately to be okay. I want to just be, to exist without the masks and camouflage. I just never learned how.
And that’s the truly sad part. I’m not okay, but you would think I am. It’s just not good enough anymore.