Joy Deceases

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I wish my mind didn’t work the way that it does. Of course, sometimes it can be a good thing: hoping for absolutely nothing and awaiting the worst so I won’t have the feeling of stupidity above all my disappointment. But, on the other hand, it can be a horrible thing; horrible and unmanageable once it becomes a routine every time I begin to feel even the slightest bit of happiness. Because every time I have something great in my life, I automatically expect it to turn out negatively. No matter how seemingly perfect something is, I question it.

“Why?”
Then “why?” turns into, “how?”
And “how?” turns into, “for how long?”

As if every bit of happiness I acquire is absolutely fated to have an expiration date.

Now, I can sit here all day until I’m blue in the face and tell stories about how many people have walked out of my life or screwed me over when they made [empty] promises against it. I can try to explain the brokenness I’ve felt over circumstances and situations that pushed me so much closer to the edge than I already was. I can go on and on forever about why I feel like my entire life has been a huge snowball effect of bullshit, deceit, and some more bullshit, but this isn’t the blame game. Ultimately, it comes down to me realizing that no one else’s mistakes should have the ability to influence my decision on how I’m going to feel about something.

But how can I just completely disregard the damage everyone else has left? How can I sit back, smile, and pretend that I’m not expecting the same thing to happen over and over again? I’ve forgiven every single person, but I’ve never forgotten, nor will I ever forget, how each one made me feel. And I think that’s what screwed me up the most.

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