There is always some sort of expectation to be happy.
Especially seen as I am “alive” and “healthy”. This usually comes from people without a care in the world. Those people who think my life is exactly the same as before I got sick. Well, sadly, it is not. And its not always a happy day for me.
Why is there so much emphasis on being ‘happy’? All of the time? Sure, I can sort of see why being happy and positive is such a life assuring thing, but for me, good days are few and far between.
To be honest, I haven’t felt very happy lately. I was happy when I was given the all clear at my last clinic appointment but nothing has given me joy in many months. Why do I feel sad? I should be ecstatic to be well enough to work again. To go out and enjoy myself. But I’m not. I’m scared of getting ill again. I’m terrified of letting someone into my life and hurting me again. Hell, I’m scared of so much, how am I expected to be happy when all I think about is the negative things? I take so long to decide the right path, there in the moment; why?
Should I shut myself away on my bad days? So no one can see them by myself? How will be ever see me as anything but okay then? I am quiet of late. And it is not reassuring. Because there is a certain expectation by everyone that I am this happy go lucky person. That I am always smiling, always laughing, always doing something silly or stupid to entertain myself. Or just talking. Always talking. And when I’m not? Its “unnerving” and “scary” and “unusual”. Well, guess what? I can’t live up to your mistaken expectation of me. I am myself, sure, but I am not the person I was 6 months ago. Everything has changed.
I hate that everything has changed. What I would give to go back, never have this disease, to never spend so much time away, spent so many hours, days and weeks in hospital.To have a normal life. With no adjusting. With no loneliness. With no fear. With all my comforting reassurance in my life as a whole. With all my infamous self belief. It is all gone. All because I can no longer be who I was. It was not my choice. It was my fault. It is my body. And I hate it.