The (Endless) Pursuit of Happiness

One of my closest friends, Ione, is the happiest person I know. And not that irritating kind of happy but the kind that makes it impossible for you to remain sad.

I think it has taken a few years to realise. I think that this is now the moment it is time to admit that I am, very much, unhappy. “They” always say that the hardest steps are admitting it to yourself. But I have repeatedly told myself that I am and I have repeatedly ignored my cries for help. I am my own worst critic. My own worst judge. My own worst helper. My own worst councillor.

I make a change but it is temporary.

I hide in a relationship but it is pointless.

I complain about a job I hate but I don’t leave.

I often turn to alcohol to get me through but I wake up with anxiety.

My health deteriorates but I choose not to help it.

I am just getting by.

I am well below water.

I say I don’t need you but I do.

How can I be better?

I am no longer me.

I am no longer real. 

I can no longer be. 

 I can no longer feel. 

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