I can’t remember the last time I was happy. And not just purely unadulterated, blissful happiness - just happiness of any kind. I have fleeting moments of thinking I’m happy, but then I realize I’m either putting up a front of cheerfulness because that’s what people expect of me (or because I don’t want to deal with people asking me if I’m okay) or that it wasn’t happiness at all, but just me doing what’s necessary to get through.

A lot of times I feel myself just performing the motions of a normal life with a strange void that might never be filled. I also catch myself thinking “oh, once this is over it’ll all go back to normal,” but this will never be over…and that was never even normal to begin with. Our lives have gone on to different paths and that’s the new “normal.” 

Talking to people recently, we all seem to be in some kind of slump. I wonder if it’s in the air, or it’s this time of year, or if we’re all just so far away from each other. It’s like we’re all just suffering from some kind of melancholy sadness. 

I live a life of contradictions: I don’t want to be alone, but all I want to do is just be alone in my room. I don’t want to be sad, but I can’t stand being around happy people sometimes. I want to love and be optimistic, but I am too “realistic” and pessimistic to let myself.

I’ve also been self-diagnosing myself on WebMD (always dangerous!) and I’m afraid I have real issues. I haven’t been to a doctor in at least three or four years now - I should go in for a check-up regardless. But still, I’m afraid I have hypothyroidism or seasonal affective disorder…or worse. 

But hey, at least I’m here and you’re here and we’re all here living life together (or maybe far apart) and tomorrow is another day. And for now, I’ll just do some laundry and watch Parks and Recreation, wishing I were Leslie Knope.