Positivity

I've begun to realize that everytime I sit down to write something, it's negative. Perhaps I was just born too late to be sucked into the Power of Positive Thinking fad. When I come upon all these "negative" ideas in my head, they simply strike me as realistic.

J has a combat for my depression, which is simply to "Decide to be Happy." And this begs the question: where does happiness come from?

There's the old adage Happiness comes from within. And that's lovely and all, but why are some folks just naturally cheerier than others? I think J has got a point, and there is power in deciding whether you want to be happy or not. There comes a point, however, where I wonder if that hedges on denial. I can simply Choose to be happy, but it doesn't mean that I won't all fall apart in a month or so reduced to a sniveling pile of tears.

So where else? I do believe we have control of our own destiny, and that we choose situations and actions, and part of growing up and becoming a "whole" person is learning what makes you happy and doing that. So there are certain activities that make you happy. For me, it is a group of creative activities: I love cooking, gardening, acting, writing, renovating my house. Making something out of nothing. And other people make me happy; spending time, taking care, laughing, whatnot.

And this is where my depression comes in. Among other things, one of the primary symptoms of clinical depression is losing interest in activities that you once enjoyed. That's a great big problem if you believe you can choose how you spend your time, and if you choose to do things that make you happy, then, ta da! You'll be happy. But when you're depressed all of a sudden, gardening is totally uninteresting and feels like a chore. Acting becomes terrifying. You get the drift.

People never fail me. Last night, feeling needed and being able to focus on someone else's issues, it helped. That always helps. I wonder, too, if this is just denial - avoiding my own problems by burying myself in someone else's. The problem is someone has to want you around, and my depression manifests itself in an unrealistic insecurity that people don't. Regardless of what they've told me, of past experience, I sink into a place where I am convinced people just don't care. Not that they hate me; they just could take me or leave me.

There still is no answer to the damnable question, however. Where does happiness come from? And, I guess more importantly, where does it go?