In all honesty I’m worried that I’m never going to be happy.

My happiness never sticks. I feel it for a few minutes, maybe even hours, and then it slides off of me. Disappears.

The memories I have are nice, they get me through the lonely nights, but memories are never enough. I don’t want to remember a time when I was happy. I don’t want to long for the past or imagine a better future. I want to be happy now.

I’m just so used to disappointment. I’m scared of getting excited over anything, large or small, because I feel like it’s going to be torn away from me the second I start to enjoy it. I just don’t want to get my hopes up.

That’s why I’m a pessimist. I see the dark side of every situation. I do it to protect myself but really, I’m only hurting myself. I’m setting myself up for sadness.

Instead of enjoying the good moments, I worry about the future. I’m never present. My mind is always somewhere else, set in panic mode.

But I’m not attached to my misery. I don’t consider it a friend. I’m not afraid to part ways with it.

I try to be happy, I want to be happy, but it’s hard to reach that point when I feel like I’m judged over loving my life, loving myself. I never tell my friends about the boy that brought me flowers or the compliment I got from my boss, because I feel like I’m bragging. I feel like I have no right to talk about it.

No, even when I actually am happy, I find it hard to enjoy the emotion. I feel like I haven’t earned it and like it’s all going to get taken away from me soon.

I feel like every time the universe gives me a good thing, it will eventually be balanced out with a terrible thing.

I’m worried that I’ll never be happy, because I don’t give myself permission to be happy. Because I feel like I don’t deserve to be happy.

But I do. I deserve the smiles and the laughter and the fun nights out. I deserve to relax for a change instead of worrying about where the next moment will take me. I deserve to love myself, to be proud of the person I’ve become.

And so do you. You deserve it all.

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