Happiness vs. Misery
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
An interesting light was shed on a topic for me...that there are people in the world who are just naturally happy all of the time. see JillUser's article Link
and foreverserenity's article Link.
I'm the kind of person who has to work to be happy. And I mean I have to work HARD. I have to think happy thoughts DELIBERATELY, I have to read uplifting books, poems, eat healthy food, surround myself with uplifting people. I have to entirely avoid anything that's remotely negative. There are a LOT of negative things to avoid. Negative people, books, magazines at the checkout counter, junk food, the news, television in general. Do you see how hard this can be? Negativity seeps in the second my guard is down, and it has shattering effects on me. When I succeed in keeping out the bad and taking in the good (which I haven't done in over a decade) life is pure bliss.
I have a friend who is pretty much suicidal all of the time. She's pretty, she's got a loving husband, and three children. But she came from a shakey foundation of parents who didn't raise her with love and respect. She just can't get over what they drilled into her, that she's ugly, and a waste of human flesh. So even now, in her 20's, things are going well for her, she's still got a persistent gloom lurking in her, and she feels like a worthless human being. Every day is a struggle for her.
She tried to kill herself last autumn, and it shattered me. Her husband loved her through it all, through the tragedy, through her recovery. She was in the hospital for a while, and I tried to get in touch with her or her husband, but I was out of the loop so I just had to wait until she was ready to talk to me.
I know her through church, and our church is pretty tight-knit. The reason I'm discussing this here is because of one lady at church who apparently has no compassion for people who are miserable enough to be suicidal. We'll call her Hilda, how's that for an ugly name?. She saw this as a juicy bit of gossip, and she spread it around. Hilda didn't try to talk to her. She just spread the gossip. I was horrified. All I wanted to do was talk to my friend. NOT to anyone else! This was a sensitive, private matter!
Hilda is one of those people who has never known grief or agony or never-ending sorrow. The worst thing that's happened in her life is having a wayward father-in-law who doesn't call on birthdays or holidays. (I'd take that as my worst concern any day.) She thinks that suicidal people, or people who do anything wrong at all, aren't worth her time of day. Notwithstanding this flaw of hers, we are good friends. I've got more flaws than she does, so I'm glad to have her, or anyone as a friend. I overlook the fact that she has no compassion for people she doesn't understand. I'm glad I know what it's like to be happy, and I'm glad that I know what it's like to be miserably suicidal, if only because that makes me more compassionate for a wide range of people.
Foreverserentity touched on an intersting point. People tend to keep their problems to themselves, and put on a facade that everything is fine, just to get through everyday with everyone else who seem just fine too. That's how my suicidal friend is. She puts on quite a happy act. I tend to be that way too (although I'm rarely suicidal).
At times I find it unbearable to hide away, knowing that I'm not solving anything by not dealing with whatever it is that makes my soul ache every day. But it's necessary to put on a mask of "Everything's Fine!" because no one has the time or energy to deal with people who don't have their lives in order. We're expected to take care of these things behind closed doors. I accept that. I certainly know that if we were all 100% open about every aspect of our lives, the good & bad alike, it would add too much for everyone to deal with on top of the normal everyday things that we do. Go to work. Immerse yourself in your work. Keep personal lives out of it. Go home. Rest. Go back to work.
The problem arises when we try to take care of our problems behind closed doors, but can't. Whether we can't find the right person to talk to, or we can't find the right prescription medication to pull us through. Then it messes with functioning as a normal "Everything's Fine" type of person. I know this from experience. I can't work any more. No doctor has told me this, I just can't function as the robot that every work place expects people to be. I'm a human. Not a robot. I have feelings I need to express occasionally. I need to rest occasionally. I can't guarantee that I can be on top of things five days a week, like clockwork. I'm a human. I'm nothing like clockwork.
So I think blogging has become my therapy. I don't have to wear that mask here, and it's OK. No one expects me to be someone I can't be. I can be myself. At least here, people listen from time to time. Or pretend to. That's good therapy.
and foreverserenity's article Link.
I'm the kind of person who has to work to be happy. And I mean I have to work HARD. I have to think happy thoughts DELIBERATELY, I have to read uplifting books, poems, eat healthy food, surround myself with uplifting people. I have to entirely avoid anything that's remotely negative. There are a LOT of negative things to avoid. Negative people, books, magazines at the checkout counter, junk food, the news, television in general. Do you see how hard this can be? Negativity seeps in the second my guard is down, and it has shattering effects on me. When I succeed in keeping out the bad and taking in the good (which I haven't done in over a decade) life is pure bliss.
I have a friend who is pretty much suicidal all of the time. She's pretty, she's got a loving husband, and three children. But she came from a shakey foundation of parents who didn't raise her with love and respect. She just can't get over what they drilled into her, that she's ugly, and a waste of human flesh. So even now, in her 20's, things are going well for her, she's still got a persistent gloom lurking in her, and she feels like a worthless human being. Every day is a struggle for her.
She tried to kill herself last autumn, and it shattered me. Her husband loved her through it all, through the tragedy, through her recovery. She was in the hospital for a while, and I tried to get in touch with her or her husband, but I was out of the loop so I just had to wait until she was ready to talk to me.
I know her through church, and our church is pretty tight-knit. The reason I'm discussing this here is because of one lady at church who apparently has no compassion for people who are miserable enough to be suicidal. We'll call her Hilda, how's that for an ugly name?. She saw this as a juicy bit of gossip, and she spread it around. Hilda didn't try to talk to her. She just spread the gossip. I was horrified. All I wanted to do was talk to my friend. NOT to anyone else! This was a sensitive, private matter!
Hilda is one of those people who has never known grief or agony or never-ending sorrow. The worst thing that's happened in her life is having a wayward father-in-law who doesn't call on birthdays or holidays. (I'd take that as my worst concern any day.) She thinks that suicidal people, or people who do anything wrong at all, aren't worth her time of day. Notwithstanding this flaw of hers, we are good friends. I've got more flaws than she does, so I'm glad to have her, or anyone as a friend. I overlook the fact that she has no compassion for people she doesn't understand. I'm glad I know what it's like to be happy, and I'm glad that I know what it's like to be miserably suicidal, if only because that makes me more compassionate for a wide range of people.
Foreverserentity touched on an intersting point. People tend to keep their problems to themselves, and put on a facade that everything is fine, just to get through everyday with everyone else who seem just fine too. That's how my suicidal friend is. She puts on quite a happy act. I tend to be that way too (although I'm rarely suicidal).
At times I find it unbearable to hide away, knowing that I'm not solving anything by not dealing with whatever it is that makes my soul ache every day. But it's necessary to put on a mask of "Everything's Fine!" because no one has the time or energy to deal with people who don't have their lives in order. We're expected to take care of these things behind closed doors. I accept that. I certainly know that if we were all 100% open about every aspect of our lives, the good & bad alike, it would add too much for everyone to deal with on top of the normal everyday things that we do. Go to work. Immerse yourself in your work. Keep personal lives out of it. Go home. Rest. Go back to work.
The problem arises when we try to take care of our problems behind closed doors, but can't. Whether we can't find the right person to talk to, or we can't find the right prescription medication to pull us through. Then it messes with functioning as a normal "Everything's Fine" type of person. I know this from experience. I can't work any more. No doctor has told me this, I just can't function as the robot that every work place expects people to be. I'm a human. Not a robot. I have feelings I need to express occasionally. I need to rest occasionally. I can't guarantee that I can be on top of things five days a week, like clockwork. I'm a human. I'm nothing like clockwork.
So I think blogging has become my therapy. I don't have to wear that mask here, and it's OK. No one expects me to be someone I can't be. I can be myself. At least here, people listen from time to time. Or pretend to. That's good therapy.
