That’s what’s been on my mind. Am I unhappy? Was I happy before? I tend to think of myself as a fairly happy person, but that’s my outside. What are my insides? If I’m not anxious then I’m depressed. I don’t like what I’m doing with my life or the world that surrounds me. But it could be so much worse, so I am grateful. But does that make me like it, well no. Do I like my friends, yes I do. Do I like social situations and intricacies, not a ton, no.
As I think about my lifetime of resentments, it alarms me to think how bad it is, and how it doesn’t seem to be getting better just because I made positive life changes. The dry-drunk, the white knuckling, the wheel grinding, seething, jealous, hateful, spiteful resentment remains.
I’ve been remembering most days to be grateful I have a home, I am loved, I was born and raised as an entitled person, and that I have a job this month, that I’ve got it better than most. But do I like it. No. Is there anything I’d like better…yeah. Sure. Lots of things. But that’s life right? That’s all anyone has, right? Or much less.
Being grown up and sober sucks. I’ll say it. Being a drunk sucks when you’re sober and is awesome when you’re not, although its hard to say because there’s not a lot of feeling going on, just experiences, and not even those in the case of my constant blackouts. I wish I had a third option, being a grown up moderate drinker who could occasionally take a break from all this sucking.
Tonight I got a 90 minute massage, the sort of thing I couldn’t afford if I went drinking. And still more than most people can afford. I have a studio apartment, I have health insurance, I have coffee, and materially I don’t have much else to my name. I don’t want a lot of new material things but I wish I could travel more, and I wish I could stop worrying, and I wish I could get more massages. I haven’t had one in a couple months and after he was done, I was so relieved. Instead of just misery and tension and pain I feel joy, I feel life, I feel oxygen in my bloodstream. But for how long, a day, until the tension and misery takes back over all my muscles again?
I don’t know how the rest of humanity does it. I’m holding the line, but not rising up. And I’m not quite 40, I’m so darn tired. 8 hours at the office feels like too much, yet I spend less time there than most. I don’t get enough sleep, I don’t get enough time to spend on food and exercise and nutrition, I don’t get enough time to live and feel alive and do the things I want to do and like the space I’m occupying. But, who does, right?
Soon I’ll be cohabitating with my sweetheart, I am thrilled and know it will bring me a new kind of joy, and fill my days with more happiness, and help me to enjoy my life. But I am also scared of any change, and if other people are an indication, even love-filled cohabitation is not a one way ticket to happiness, it settles down into the day to day, and you’re on your own hook again for purpose and meaning. As I’ve been saying the serenity prayer, the line ‘Grant me the courage to change the things I can’ fills me with wonder – I guess it’s pretty grown up of me to admit that I’m stumped.