There's something quite unsettling about being happy and I don't like it. I'd much rather be in a state of utter turmoil. You see, turmoil leads to such vices as self-destruction, which is a supremely better method of creation and expression. There's so much more to it. After all, the only things that come from contentment are idleness, age and ego. Feeling happy is only an omen for the bad things to come. The way I see it, if you're miserable every second of every day, you always win. Nothing can bring you down lower. You expect the worst all the time. No surprises, nothing. If your mother dies, if your girlfriend fucks your best friend, if your car explodes, if your
dad gambles away your college funds, if the asshole at work gets the big promotion instead of you, if you lose a breast to cancer...these are all things that take part in the grand shit storm of your life.
Take a look around, and I mean take a good look around. Is there anything worth being happy about? Is there any justification for being optimistic? There isn't ever a bright side. There is no "other hand." The people that tote and gloat about how positive and upbeat they are almost always the people that are up to their wastes in debt, were abused as children or get off to defecating on themselves.
The truth is that we are all damaged. Some just mask it with temporary pleasure and most just deny it all together, but don't just take my word for it, it's an industry. Thousands of people every year purchase anti-depressants and walk into counseling offices, and my question is...
Am I missing something here? Am I the only one who recognizes the malevolent beauty in introverted agony? My crippling doubt, my dirt low self-esteem, my heartaches, my heartbreaks....I couldn't live without them. I dwell, sulk and mope and do it all without shame.
Still skeptical? How about this, get your hands on the most depressed, negative, lonely, good-for-nothing person you can find and put a gun right between their eyes. Watch them tear up like a thirteen year old girl during her first period. Listen to them beg for their lives and grovel at your feet. Press the cold metal right up against their skin and just watch their hysteria ensue. Now, if a legitimately depressed person loathed their existence so, why would they fear a swift end to their troubles? Well, the same reason why teens cut themselves and purposely botch their suicide attempts, the same reason people waste themselves away with hard drugs and alcohol. These are individuals who are unable to ascertain their intrigue, their lust for depression. The masses claim they're merely "cries for help." Such cop-outs are laughable, and only exist to serve as fitting scapegoats for a generation of parents who are far more destructive and oblivious than the kids they're raising.
Ask yourself, which is stronger: Great joy or great sadness? Why is there such heavy persuasion to disregard our negativity and our pessimism? By doing so, you're overlooking an element of our primal nature as human beings. Put down the Dr. Phil book, turn off Oprah. Life is not easy. Life is not simple. Life is not pleasant. Life is not fair. Stop wasting your potential by pretending otherwise and spawn something with your desperation instead of hiding it in the lump in your throat.
It's the people that cling to their happiness who carry the most misery but it's the people who embrace their despair who bear the most humanity. It's the few who wave their emotional masochism like a flag that are truly to credit for all beneficial, heartfelt, intelligent creation while the rest of the world gallivants in their hollow, pointless glory. Which would you rather be, the