I’m supposedly happy…

I’m happy.

And I’m not sure what to do.

I find myself struggling to know what to do. I’m so used to being depressed, tortured in disagreement with myself and highly confused that now that I’m happy it’s alien to me. I’ve conjured up bad habits over the last couple years while I was in my pit of blackness that I’ve forgotten what I actually enjoy doing…if anything…

I was in one of my happiest places recently, green gathering, a lovely communal and peaceful festival, I was so happy and content but I was constantly fighting the darkness thats trying to sabotage me and bring me back into my slumber. It can happen at the oddest times too, I can be full swing in an activity, climbing for example, I’ll be achieving routes I hadn’t before and them bam. The cold washes over me, life is drained away and I slump to floor in a heap with no will to go on.

What they forget to tell you in recovery is you’ve got to learn to be happy again and how to handle it. You haven’t been happy for years so when it comes up inside you a)you don’t know what the fuck is happening and b)you sort of run with it, you’ve missed it for so long that when it returns you get swept away on a honeymoon, only for it to throw you out the plane on the return leg and wham bam slam your back in you sad dark place.

I think it’s all about coaching yourself as it happens, acknowledging the happiness as a real emotion, because it is alien if you haven’t felt it in half a decade. And then you kind of have to practice not marrying it, like any new relationship, you can’t jump the gun.

I never thought happiness would be so confusing and trial-some. For most people it’s welcomed and is loved and can be spared to others. For me it’s bizarre, and I’m a little scared of it, so I just have to take baby step.

I’m so accustomed to being in the dark, that stepping into the light can hurt, so I’ll just go a toe at a time.

Recovery is made in the weirdest and slowest days.


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