Happiness is an elaborate,long drawn out ritual that leaves you feeling drained- a party you spent months arranging for but you hate every one on the guest list,a restaurant with decor that looks on point on your Instagram feed but with really,really sucky food.
Its lack is the strange comfort of the peeling paint on the walls of your room,so you slip back into it like crawling into an unmade bed at night,still in your denims.It is the faded t-shirt you put on after a shower when you are going to be alone at home all day,it is the faint stink of sweat drying on your skin when you’ve been too lazy to shower,too tired to get out of bed at all.
Unhappiness is-not gray exactly-but the faint purple the shadows under your eyes take on when you haven’t been eating or sleeping much of late,it is the dusky rust the scars on your wrist took on at eleven before fading out of existence.
There is nothing glorious or glamorous about it.It is a hastily prepared midnight snack-some fruit jam smeared between two crackers-and gobbled down hastily,leaving a faint trace of guilt but enormous satisfaction.The parts of your life that do not find a place in social media,but are the overwhelming majority of your reality.
It is a power cut on a summer night and the way you become accustomed to the sweltering heat,a few minutes in.It is the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle you never solved but haphazardly threw back into their box.It is coming clean to your mother about failing on a math test at seven,the scolding that comes with it and the subsequent unknotting stomach.
It isn’t glorious and sometimes it intensifies into something stronger,something that leaves you awake with a broken down record player of a mind at two in the morning but till then.
Till then it is the comfort of familiarity.It is taking off a pair of heels and facing your inadequacy in the mirror,it is the meet-and-greet with a not too personable truth,it is a deep breath and simply letting go of pretense,of letting yourself be.Just be.
Because this is life and it’s not supposed to be a Drew Barrymore starrer or a Disney movie and you owe no one a goddamn performance.It’s ok to birth a bastard loss in the lining of your skin,it is ok to not hide the sharp edges of your soul.It is ok to feel piercing joy or crushing grief with no explanation in sight.It is ok to stink and shrink and swell and break out in acne.It is ok to eat too much and throw up,or not.To clutter people’s newsfeeds with ramblings like these.
Because this is life.And you are allowed to be.Just be.