Happy

The other day, I was talking on the phone to Kinfolk. He is one of my oldest friends. Just a little background: I met him in college. He married one of my closest girlfriends. He's really southern and grows vegetables. Anywho, I was talking to him about the weightloss drugs I have been prescribed and depression meds and he goes, "You do seem a lot happier Clay." (insert eyeroll). I then ask, "Uh...was I ever happy?" And he says, "Yes."

Listen, if regular people could get an Emmy, I apparently would have one. Winfrey said something similar a long time ago about my having been "happy", which left me confused and scratching my head. I spend most of my time screaming in my head and gripping my edges. Looking back, my whole life has been riddled with fear and anxiety and functional depression. I didn't know that I was exhibiting these symptoms as a kid and young adult. I was just being Holly: the overemotional fat girl that liked to make mountains out of mole hills. The ho that was COVID revealed to me during quarantine that people around the world who demonstrate Holly-ness are typically medicated. Apparently, crying multiple times a day to "relax" isn't really a thing. 

Yet, to Kinfolk's credit, I was able to camouflage these issues in college with parties, study sessions, optimism about my future and excitement about being away from home. I know longer party. I have nothing to study for. I'm about as optimistic as a man in the electric chair. And my future...don't even get me started! In my defense, it was easy to laugh and smile in my 20s because I didn't see the avalanche of BS that was coming my way. Seem a lot happier. Give me a break. When I meet people my age who are grinning like they are 22, I assume that they are either drunk or that they have accepted the fact that they have lost their minds. One thing I don't assume is that they are happy, and as glass half empty as I am that makes me sad.