Happy

Right. Let's get it started,
And picture it together.
Visualise.
You sit down.
The chair is brown,
The walls beige, bog standard office,
All nondescript and unamazing,
And she's sat there,
In the opposite chair,
The centre of attention is you, and she stares,
And she says
"What do you think makes you happy?"

Disclaimer: if you are considering or starting therapy this is hypothetical and highly unlikely to ever happen.

But here, in this moment,
The irony being that normally talk is cheap,
But right now you are paying
Through the ceiling,
Would you have an answer?
And if you do,
Could you please tell me what it is.

Because
I've gone on huge quests to find my happiness.
And in my searching so far, I have found;
The instant gratification of that pill or line feels so good at the time,
But over time a nasty habit,
That will make you so very deeply unhappy.

Definitely a catalyst for me to be here at therapy.

Though I should acknowledge the mathematics and statistics; the children of addicts are much more likely to end up as addicts, half the risk for addiction is genetic.
And whilst on the topic of my heritage and lineage, when your family lives on the line of poverty,
And you grow up and witness
the unfairness of it all,
It's as if it forms scar tissue on your soul.

I suppose at some point I'd considered being happy a luxury,
I was contending with getting by,
And surviving.
I've been there.
Fight or flight.
Hiding in corners petrified,
And even now if I shut my eyes
I can still watch it like a film in my mind.

I guess that will forever stay inside.

I've also found the quick fix of something materialistic provides pleasure,
But the feeling dissipates far too quickly
For me to see it as value for money.
Not saying I don't like nice things;
Nearly every girl I know would smile
at the bling of a diamond ring, or
A flash car, but it can only get you so far, right?
It's just stuff.
And for real happiness?
I don't think it's enough.

Plus, are we meant to constantly be happy?
Like, off the cuff are we not expecting a bit too much?
I have my moments,
Little fragments and glimpses of joy.
Beautiful sunsets, sand between my toes as I listen to the sound of the sea,
Waves crashing and colliding as they meet the shore.
When the wind is wild, and you can hear it pulsing through the trees,
I feel so alive, it's all so much bigger than me,
It doesn't care for my depression,
It is what it is,
And then I feel grateful, that I'm here,
I exist.

And my kids.

Fucking hell they are everything.
Their laughs, their smiles, their smell,
Their storie, how they look to me for reassurance,
Within their eyes I am without flaws,
Who wouldn't be content with all that?

And fuck, how have I not spoke
Of the oldest love of mine.
128-140 speaks, placated, I'm floating,
High, cloud 9.
Or passionate strings, see I have a thing for sad chords,
Can't say why, I just cry.
But isn't that a gift, that I have been given,
And I'm lucky and should recognise?

So I guess happiness is complex,
Funny enough just like life.
The harder I try to force it, the more it seems out of reach,
But those pure moments I am,
I should cherish.

My happiness is built on love and trust.
Accepting my depression,
Acknowledging the bad doesn't last forever.
Focused on my closest and how I feel when we're together,
My connection with nature, me smiling in rainy weather.

Not wanting it to be better.
It being good enough.
ME being good enough, right in this second, feeling enough.
It is enough.
My happiness is my love.