get happy

suicide attempts do NOT count as getting happy. Nine days of hospitalization later, things are beginning to look up. I think. :)

Well on my way..

I have so many reasons to be happy, anyone observing my life would say as much…but I’m not. I’m miserable. But I’m working on it!

Well, for a while now I’ve felt so dispassionate about life in general. I don’t feel interest in anything, and feel that nothing challenges me on an intellectual level. I feel numb, like I have no emotions, and I want to feel happiness for a change. So, I’m making a goal to find something I am interested in and get out of my rut!

we broke up and im fucking free. this is a beautiful day forever.

I am just doing away with some redundant goals.

The anniversary of my father’s death, oddly enough, was what I needed to get through the morass of my life. It broke me down, and allowed me to get so much of the mental anguish that I had been suppressing out in the open.

I do not trust my feelings, betrayed as I have been by them so many times in the past. So I hide them- from myself.

Getting them out helped a great deal. Thank you to all my friends who helped, thank you.

I killed my father.

At least that is how it feels. He died a year ago Friday. Lung cancer. On average, four packs a day from the age of about 13.

The cancer was discovered too late- it had already spread to the bones and liver. He did radition and chemo; he took dozens of pills every day. He got better.

Then he got worse.

Somebody in the family always went with him to the oncologist. I live about an hour and a half away from my parents, so I only went to one appointment. My mother wanted me to act as his advocate, to stand up for him when the doctor delivered the bad news, which we all knew was coming. If the news was bad, neither she, nor my sisters would have the wherewithal to help him make his decision.

And the news was bad. Sick people get sick, he said. The disease is winning. If you want to keep going with the treatments, we can, but you have to ask yourself if you want to deal with the pain and the exhaustion in exchange for only a few months.

He looked at me and said, “Your mother doesn’t want to give up.”

I looked at him and said, “It’s not her call. It’s okay to stop fighting.”

He started to cry. “I’m done. I’m tired. I hate the way the treatments make me feel. I can’t do this anymore.”

Some advocate I am. I was sent in to stand up to the docs and the nurses and the hospital and convince them to keep fighting. Instead, I gave my father permission to die.

I know that it was the right call; I know that it wouldn’t have worked; I know that we all wanted him to keep fighting for our own selfish reasons. I know all that.

But there is a nagging thought in the back of my brain, a heaviness in my heart, and a stain on my soul.

You killed him! You killed your own father! You pitiful, vile bastard!

I have spent the last twenty-four hours in tears, off and on. This year has been a trial for me, each week some new tragedy, grand or petty. I’m getting divorced; my car got totalled in a flood; the transmission blew up on the one I bought to replace the first one; I am in debt way past my eyeballs.

You deserve it, murderer!

I don’t know what I will be feeling on Friday, the anniversary. Hell, I don’t know if I will be feeling on Friday. Numb might be preferable under the circumstances.

If I want to get happy, I have to get past this. I have been keeping this in me for a year. I have to get this out of me.

So bless me, Father, for I have sinned.

And please, please, please forgive me.

I stumbled upon this website and thought what the hell…I’m home alone as usual so what the hell. My husband is a police officer and we’re trying to buy a house so he works as many shifts as he can. He usually gets one day off every 2 weeks or so…usually during the week. I’m teacher so days off during the week don’t really work with my schedule. We met 12 years ago in college and got married just about 2 years ago. I moved away from my family which I never should of done. I left a great job and a widowed mother. I’ve been miserable ever since. I miss my old life. Perfection would have been husband moving into my life in CT…but he got a better job offer here. I’m alone a lot…I don’t do well when I’m alone. It just makes me depressed. I haven’t met any friends here….it sucks. I’ve tried talking to him about it….he gets it and understands. He is heart broken that I’m not happy here. But….we’re still here…I hate him for that. I can’t think of anything to be happy about. I’m sad and alone all the time. It’s becoming too much for me. I just miss my old home, my old friends….my old everything. I’m empty and alone.

Much as I hate to quote trite pop lyrics, it’s true. The first step to achieving happiness, is to disentangle oneself from what is making one unhappy.

I’ve started to do that- and I am optimistic for the first time in years.