What Good is Happiness Anyway?

Happiness.    The state of being happy.  So what the hell does that even mean?  

Happy.    Feeling or showing pleasure or contentment...  Nope.

                Having a sense of confidence in or satisfaction...  Nope

                Satisfied with the quality or standard of...  Nope

Maybe I am just stuck in a midlife crisis or pandemical depression, but I have lost sight of anything that I really enjoy.  I don't know what makes me happy anymore.  Even the things that I used to enjoy have lost all their excitement.  Things I used to love, doing things with my family, children, concerts, vacations, hiking, biking, carpentry, yard work, automotive repair, tv shows, movies, football games, soccer games, video games, and even music, have become mundane and disappointing.  I never have enough time to do all the stuff and things. 

Everything seems to revolve around bills and debt.  I just go to work and make money to pay bills, to buy more things, get more in debt, so I have to work more to pay more bills.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat.  There is no real enjoyment in it anymore.  There is no goal I am trying to achieve.  Nothing to look forward to.  No pot full of gold at the end of the rainbow.  Capitalism.  It is another form of control by it's very nature.  Consumerism.  Being raised in a society that is fixated by constantly upgrading everything to bigger and better, means you will never truly be satisfied.  If you get caught in that loop.  I am serial # 17595623. I am a paycheck.  A cog in the GDP production machine.

I look back now and see everything differently.  I had to be institutionalized to mold me, and make good grades, so I could go to college and get good grades.  That was the promise made to my generation.  A college degree will equal a good job and a good job will equal a good income and a good income will equal a good family life and THAT my friends, will equal happiness. Right up until we hit the real world and were smacked in the face with the reality of that lie.  I was told I needed to do many extracurricular activities.  Not because I liked any of them, but because it would look good on my resume.  The things I really enjoyed, like soccer and skateboarding, were constantly pushed away from me because there was no "future" in it.  Meaning income.  

But I digress... I just feel stuck.  Like... I have made my own cage and I can't get out of it.  I guess I have went into a survival mode.  There is just enough of whatever it is to keep me going.  No light at the end of the tunnel.  Just another, longer tunnel.  And I stand tall and carry everyone I can along with me.  But, the older I get, the heavier it feels.  The more I hurt.  Emotionally and physically.  Maybe it's just my stubborn nature.  I don't know what giving up is, but there has to be more to life than survival... If there isn't, then what's the point?

This will pass.  I am down.  So down right now.  Maybe I am just having trouble coping with yet another wave of Covid infections and lockdowns coming on.  Maybe I am just about to have a breakdown from being everyone else's emotional support.  2021 is almost over.  These last two years of pandemic have been heavy.  People ask what it is like and all I can think is heavy.  Everything in life has become more complicated, farther away, and more expensive.  I stand tall and try to carry everyone along.  Constantly searching for that spark I lost.

  

Question Love

Sometimes, I question love.  I wonder how it is possible to love multiple people all in different ways.  I guess I should be more specific.  To love and truly care about more than one woman for the different qualities they possess.

Growing up in a military family I moved quite a bit.  So there are little bits and pieces of my heart spread out across the country.  Relationships that were ended due to the next set of orders my father received.  Some with no closure whatsoever.  Sometimes it feels like a gaping hole there in my heart.  The lifelong question of what if?  To be compounded a million times over when finding out they may still have those exact feelings too, even decades after the fact.  There was never a "Ah Ha, she is the one for me" moment.

Meeting so many people can be really educational.  You learn so much about yourself, your wants and needs. You also learn about them, their wants and needs.  All the different qualities that make us who we are.  No two people are ever the same.  In fact, no one person is the same as the were before.  To quote Alice “I knew who I was this morning, but I've changed a few times since then.”  I often think people come and go throughout our lives when we need them, not necessarily when we want them.  And I think we are all in a constant state of flux.

Here in seems to lie the issue to me.  Can any one partner really fill all our wants and needs?  I have never met "the one" in my 47 years.  I know I am lacking in many ways as well.  I really don't believe they exist.  I fell like that is more of a societal construct.  You have to choose one, get married, procreate and pay taxes for the continued good of our society.  You get some aspects of what makes you happy, as do they.  All while both missing out on other things you desire.  We have opportunity cost drilled into our heads in economics.  For every decision you make you have to give up something else, right.  So in America, loving a woman means you have to marry her in a very traditional sense and are no longer allowed to be close to any other women. 

 

I see so many married people trying to make it work.  There are all the fairy tales we grew up with telling us that we are all special and will meet "the one that completes us."  Then we can live happily ever after.  When a man loves a woman they get married and spend the rest of their lives together.  Shouldn't that really be when a person loves another person anyway?  A universal love, not one dictated by race, geography, sexual orientation, etc.

Couples go about their routines every day.  Things can be great, things can be terrible.  They go through emotional pain together.  Sometimes it brings them closer, sometimes it pushes them apart. Sometimes they fight and then they make up, or just pretend to.  Very few of them seem to have the same wants, needs, or goals.  But they continue on.  We are constantly told that marriage is a work in progress.  You can never stop trying.  I have to ask, if it is supposed to be, then how come it it so hard to do?

I know some people rely on the bible to explain love and marriage, but that is just a whole different can of worms to open.  Especially when it comes to different religions.  Also being a true believer or not changes that game as well.

 

Maybe it's just me.  Maybe I am just confused.  The more I think the more I confuse myself.  Maybe I am just selfish.  Maybe I am from another broken family and have spent my whole life searching for something I never had or saw in my childhood.  I don't know.  I do know my heart is broken in pieces and scattered around.  Some were picked up and held onto tightly.  Some were put in a box and locked away.  Some were swept up and dumped into the trash.  Some are just hiding because they are not allowed to come out and play.

I often wonder if people in open marriages, or multiple partner marriages have it all figured out.  But society says that is wrong as well.  So it is what it is....

When I close my eyes

Reflections on Those Moments in Time.... A story they said.  Please tell me a story Grandpa.  Reluctantly, shoulders pushed back, head tilted down, he spoke.  "I can tell you a story, but it will not be a happy one."  Tell us a story Grandpa, we don't care what kind.  He was the greatest story teller they had ever known.  Most Grandpas are, you know.  "As you wish," he replied.  He cleared his throat and held his head up high.

There were two brothers, Jack and Bobby.  They were both teenagers in a Gender Neutral Scouting Organization together.  They didn't always get along well.  Sometimes, they fought like cats and dogs.  But that never mattered, because they were family and would do anything for each other.  The best of friends, and the worst of friends.  They were a year apart and Bobby had been "the man of the house" since he was about 7.  His little brother looked up to him so much.  They were very good kids.  Always ready to help someone without a second thought.  They had great manners as well.  Bobby was looked up to as a leader in the organization they belonged to.

Bobby had to become the man of the house when his father packed up and left them.  He blamed it on their mother.  She was quite peculiar and somewhat off in the head.  One story was that she made the boys get dressed in front of her everyday, butt naked, so she could inspect them for ticks.  Another was that she would make them take medication, even ones that were not prescribed for them.  Or talk the doctor into giving them medication that would make them easier to manage for her, such as anti-anxiety or antidepressants.  Another was that she tried to beat the "demons" out of them with sticks, belts, or even a whip.  And they had no father to speak of.  He moved a couple hours away.

That's just some background to give you some perspective.  The boys had each other, and that was it.

One day Bobby decided to move away to live with his father.  New home, new school, new friends, and new problems.  He was no longer taking his antidepressant medication and became very emotional.  You absolutely can NOT just cold turkey quit taking that kind of medication.  That's when he began self medicating. Drinking beer and smoking weed. That's when things went terribly wrong.  He got addicted to illegal substances and broke into a house and stole some things to sell.  He was trying to pay off the drug dealer he owed.  He go caught and was arrested.  His parents bailed him out, but said it was his fault and they were not helping him anymore.

That's how I entered of the story.  He called me one night.  He was scared, and alone. He kept trying to make his normal jokes, but I could see right through them. I talked to him for hours.  He had a court date set up and no lawyer or anything.  He was living in a trailer in his fathers back yard.  His stepmom would not let him live in the house.  Going to high school and working part time to try and pay legal fees.  He was off all his medications and his brain was on full overload. He thought it was the end of the world. Going to prison was the only thing he could see in his future.

The conversation went on and I did all I could to encourage and reassure him it was not the end of the world. That his story was far from over. Especially, since he was a minor.  He could get some legal help from the state.  He could ask for help with substance abuse.  That by voluntarily seeking treatment a judge may drop all charges. He did have friends and family to help. That I understood and was not judging him.  That he could get financial assistance. That he could text or call me anytime.  I felt like we made some headway and he was moving in the right direction.

Where was Jack during all this?  Jack had his own problems.  He had been caught stealing money from a local business he frequented and sometimes helped out at.  He was judged very harshly by the peers and parents in his social circles.  They wanted the business owner to press charges against him with the Police, but the owner refused to. He only asked that he was paid back he $250 stolen from him. They realized there had been some money missing from the gender neutral scouting organization a month earlier and blamed it on him as well.  Then they blamed him for some other money missing from the church they met at, even though it was months earlier.  He admitted he had stolen from the business owner and completely denied the other two.  When he was pressed about the reason for stealing the money he said he only did it to help his brother out.  He said his brother was being threatened to pay the money he owed someone and he feared for his life.  Basically, he gave the money to Bobby to pay off his drug debt.

Jack was attacked viciously.  He was blamed for every penny and item that ever came up missing from the church and our group.  When I spoke up Nancy told me there was nothing worse than a thief and he should go to jail.  I pleaded with friends that he was just a child himself and needed guidance.  That they should be lenient with him and try to help.  At that point they began treating me like I was a plague.  All because I asked them to have some empathy for him and his situation.   They had many conversations about him in messenger groups and text.  It was a big secret rumor mill.  Finally, Jack was kicked from the scout group and the church he belonged to.  Totally ostracized by the very people that should have been there to help him.  He worked at the business part time and went  to high school in order to pay off his debt.  The owner kept him on as a full time employee after that.  The last time I saw him was a chance meeting at Walmart of all places.  He has a beautiful wife and a boy, named Bobby.

Bobby was in a pickle.  But it was something he could get out of with a little work and support.  I was sure of it. I was so sure I had saved up some money to help him out. I got a phone call from a friend about 2 weeks later.  He asked me if I had seen the paper.  He didn't say why, he just told me to look.  So..... I did, and I was shocked.  Horrified even!  FRONT PAGE!  Bobby had committed suicide.  One bullet ended such an amazing young mans life.  We heard there would be a service here for him that his mom was setting up.  She asked if some of the scouts could be pallbearers since he was a part of their troop for so many years.  Nancy hollered "NO! Absolutely not!" at the meeting.  She proclaimed him to be the brother of a scumbag and a thief and she would not let her son be any part of the service.  Several other parents agreed.  I pointed out it is not for Jack, the one you have labeled a thief.  It is for Bobby and his parents and other family.  At one time Bobby was like family to the other scouts.  Still she shrieked "NO!  You can do what you want to, but my family and friends will have no part of it."

So there we were, sitting at the church.  It was a closed casket funeral.  I gave his mother all the condolences I could muster.  I shook Jacks hand and neither of us could speak.  To my joy I saw a large group of scouts, about 12, walk in together.  I heard one of them saying "Do you remember that time Bobby........?"  They were trading stories about camp outs.  My faith was returning with every step they made.  They were not being led by adults.  They were there on their own, dressed in uniform for their lost friend.  Every one of them shook Jacks hand and hugged his mother.  Some of the adult leaders were there as well.

It was a nice small service.  A huge FUCK YOU to Nancy service. Someone I had considered a friend for so long, but could no longer stand being in the same room with. Maybe the kids are more compassionate and empathetic than we give them credit for. 

"Grandpa that was a sad story." Yes it is.  All stories can't be happy.  "What happened to Jack and his mother?"

Jack and his mom lost their house in a tornado and moved away several months later.  I still see Jack in town every once and a while.  I still see Bobby from time to time as well. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, or in a dream. That tall young man, with the big smile, holding the door for everyone and asking if we need any help on our way to the Scout meeting.  ;  His story is not over, as long as we continue to tell it.

Shame

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Damaged... Not Broken

"You can not break down what can't be broken
They can do all they can do but they can't break unbreakable
They scared to face the truth because they hate the view
They taste the juice, I hope it make 'em puke, I'm breakin' loose
Should I throw up the deuce or should I waive the deuce"

Lil Wayne Can't be broken

It runs through his mind like a Amtrack train.  Over and over.  A song by a artist so many love to hate, who preaches on the world.  Watching and waiting for the right moment to speak, but his lips can't move. The right words aren't there.  Are there really any words? It's just too much for him to see you like this.  Crushed by the pain.  Unable to move on.  Locked in a single moment in time where everything faded to black.  

Days have passed.  Yet the feelings remain.  The confusion, the sorrow, the enlightenment and the lingering depression of loss. Today is better, isn't it?  No smiling through the tears yet.  No lying to people about why your eyes are watering.  But the feelings are still there.  They are becoming internalized.  He sees that.  A moment of chill here and there.  You shake like a ghost is tickling your spine.  That brief hollow moment, where you find absolute despair.  You want to scream, but it just won't come out.  You have to swallow it back down and try to go back to work.  Stay busy and occupied.  Your mind is processing as fast as it can.  This is healing.  Your mind is reevaluating everything it thought it knew for a fact.  About so many things, you were wrong.  No joke, It's going to take a while.

The song.  It isn't about what you are going through.  It's what he wants to tell you.  He is proud of you for working through this.  Making the right choices and sticking with them. Walking in blind. Swallowing your pride and taking whatever came your way.  No matter how bad it hurt, it needed to be done.  Those were things that have haunted you for years.  Some of those feelings can be laid to rest now.  Some never will.  Others will be cherished til the day you die.  Locked up and put away where only you can find them.  The little monster inside will stand guard.  Always ready to fight for you.  Those feelings are pure emotion and give you the strength to stand tall against the darkness inside you.  That was her gift.  You are both better for it now.  Always remember you are never alone.

After all the years he watched you suffer.  All the pain in your life. Some caused by others and some by yourself.  You have never been broken.  Damaged yes, never broken.  Pick yourself back up and start again.  The armor you wear is a little bit lighter.  The cracks are starting to show.  Those cracks are a good thing.  It lets the emotions vent into the universe so you don't explode.  Stop holding it all in.  You are unbreakable.  No one can take that away from you.  And he'll be dammed if he lets you do it to yourself.  This is the process.  Wet, lather, rinse , repeat.  Clean yourself up, pull yourself back together, and get back in the game.  as time goes on you will understand more and more.  Perhaps you will even look back and smile that it happened, no more crying about what was lost.

Now it's time to stand up tall and get out from in front of this mirror.  He has seen enough of you for today.

CHANGE

Dude!  Don't even know where to begin. My mind is racing and I need some relief.  This blog was supposed to be just that for me, some relief from the storm inside my head.  All those thoughts that need to be sorted.  The feelings that just don't make sense.  Constantly searching for the when, why, how, and were life took it's turns.  Some for good, some for bad, and some that we can't even understand yet. That's where I am right now... trying to understand.  It always helps to write it down.  So that's what this is, a journal entry about how it got from here to there.

It started when someone asked me to write them a story.  They liked the way I spoke and wrote at times.  The images I used to convey my feelings.  I have never been able to make things simple in life.  I over analyze everything.  Add to it some ADHD, anxiety and depression and who knows what will come out in the end.  Going to the mall becomes an epic quest in search of new armor to fight the trolls living under the overpass.  That's where it came from.  A request, and then the realization that other people were reading them too.  And many times they shared that they had the same feelings and had faced the same demons I had (or was). 

People love stories and lord knows I have some good ones.  They love to be wisped away to another reality.  Even more important we are all seeking common ground.  Familiar feelings.  Justification.  None of those are the right words, but that one escapes me right now.  No one wants to feel alone in life.  No one wants to feel like they are the only ones that have problems.  Thinking "It's just me" is where we turn to darkness and hide things in the closet.  Then they grow into monsters and demons we have to fight for the rest of our lives.  But we still hide them the best we can from the rest of the world.  I always wanted so badly to know that I was not alone.  I have feelings, and I wear them on my sleeve sometimes.

Then it happened.  The ridicule.  The attacks.  The vicious nature of the angry, anonymous, human being who thinks they will face no consequences for their transgressions.  Being made fun of and called names after pouring your soul into something is definitely a real party pooper.  "You are a liar!"  I still see that one. It became a troll-a-thon.  If you are an active member of any forum, especially if you have been there for years, you expect a certain amount of respect and common decency.  I got none in the end, so I left.  I backed up all my current posts and left.  That forum is now long gone.

A few months later I tried posting a few blogs in a new forum.  But it was, in all actuality, too new to me.  I didn't know it's community and it didn't know me. Nothing felt right about it.  I literally felt like I was cheating on my former forum.... So gone again, I went. 

Then someone said go to Blogger.  You can do whatever you want and no one will care or mess with you.  So I did.  And I transferred some old things and wrote some new ones.  Then one day it happened.  I stopped drinking alcohol.  And I stopped writing shortly there after.  I had so much I wanted to say, but I couldn't dwell long enough to write it down.  I think all those years I was just self medicating to dull the painful memories I have carried.  "I drink because I am depressed, and I am depressed because I drink."  And it definitely helped me slow down my body and mind long enough to finish a entry.  I have quite a few more unfinished drafts than I do finished ones.  I am also an alcoholic, raised by an alcoholic.  Ahhhh, yes!  That vicious old cycle.  But his isn't about that.

I honestly don't like to read most of those old blog posts.  No one should.  Many of them are fueled by alcoholic rage, loneliness, and despair.  In fact some of them I even deleted.  But that was where I was.  That was the only way I knew how to deal with the hand I was given.  No regrets.  It's so easy to look back and criticize.  To tear yourself apart over things.  The woulda, shoulda, coulda of any decision made, or not made.  Those are the times you wake up screaming in the middle of the night.  And search for comfort to ease the torment.

This is a new day.  A new time.  A new me.  I am just thinking out loud.  Trying to slow down enough so my fingers can keep up.  Lots of things have changed, but many are the same.  This is just a simple form of self help.  A way to put things into order, from my perspective.  I have learned a lot in the last years.  I have learned even more in the last couple weeks.  Especially about perspective.  From outside perspective, which lead to a deeper understanding.  I learned a lot about who I am. I learned more about what light I have to give, and the darkness I need to overcome. I know now that I am willing and ready for change.

No Answer

Inside the outside.  Breeds the silent death.  Always.  It walks among us, unnoticed.  Powerful.  Like the dandelion blows away as the child's breath is forced.  Suffering.  Wanting.  Needing.  Feelings of hopelessness.  Running through the forest.  ALONE.  So dark.  Despair becomes a friend.  No answer.  All it would take is an answer.  He screams out the question again.  His voice is cracked.  Broken.  Eyes jagged and dull.  Worn down from the flood of years.  It comes again.  Hot, wet, and sticky.  Blood stains on the soul.  No end in sight.  Drying to a crust.  A hard scab hides the animal clawing it's way to the surface.  The chakra points burn for release.  Addiction.