It’s dawned on me that throughout my short existence
I’ve never written a happy piece
My writing seems to consist mostly of cringe-worthy whining
And endless amounts of loathsome self-pity

Sure there’s the occasional upswing
You know
When a boy meets a girl
I can recount tales, soliloquies, and prose
Go on endlessly about about that burning fire
****, give me paper, a pen and a bottle of bourbon and I’ll tell you all about a look she gave me once

But real happiness?
Inner peace?
The type of stuff that gets monks hard?
Nothing, nada, zilch

And I’ve looked
Oh boy have I looked
I scoured old journals,
Bent and broken
The binding barely held together by a stitch

Every high school, middle school space and place I could think of
But not even a whisper of a laugh that was ever shared with a friend

All of this begs the question
Am I just a miserable sap? Who’s only pleasure in life is wallowing in despair?
Or am I a self-destructive nihilist?
Content that we’re all doomed to the same dirt box in the end?
Or worse yet…

And this is when I really took a hard look at myself
And I mean a real hard look
A **** naked, look yourself in the eye
heart to heart with me moment


I asked myself two questions:

"Do I like me?"
Generally?
"Yes"
Yes
That was easy

I generally enjoy life
I enjoy the company of others
Feeling successful
Accomplishing something I think has some value or impact
I enjoy living and I enjoy this wild rollercoaster we call life

"If you like yourself and you enjoy life, then where does your happiness come from?"
From inside?
"Does it?"
I mean, I think it does
"You think or you know?"
I mean whoever really knows where happiness comes from anyhow?
"Answer the question, and be honest. What is the source of your happiness?"
I…
"Don’t lie, I’ll know. YOU’LL know"
Other People?
"More specifically"
Women?
"MORE!"
Women I date?
"Come on, get deep for a ******* moment you *****!"
Women I love?
Women
I love
"See? Was that so hard?"
I…I, don’t know what to say…

And what is there to say?
To discover that the source of your happiness
True happiness, lies with others?
And not sharing with others, love thy neighbor, koombayah
This doesn’t come from a selfless place, not entirely anyway
This is carnal

This is staking your claim
This is caring for others to the extent that it fulfills your innate desires
She gets what she wants and she’s happy and that completes me
It’s not just oh I’m happy because she’s happy hahaha
I crave it, I need it

And when it’s not there?
I’m an absolutely wreck
A ******* walking, breathing, ******* mess
I barely eat, I can’t sleep
All I feel is gnawing
Something deep inside that doesn’t know what the **** to do

And when it’s good it’s still ******
Because how could you ever tell someone that
I love you
Means I love me?