The Oxford English Dictionary’s definition of “happiness”: “The state of being happy.”
Seems a bit of a lame definition. Let’s try happy instead: “Feeling or showing pleasure or contentment.” Much better.
However, it’s possible for someone to express happiness when they feel anything but. Someone suffering crippling depression or anxiety can still laugh at a joke or sitcom whilst on the inside, they are crumbling.
I seem to exist in a perpetuate state of melancholy. No matter how much I can laugh at things, the deep rooted sadness within me is always there, ready to pop up and remind me that what I’m feeling isn’t true happiness. I’m simply able to express amusement at certain times.
I am definitely not happy though.
Sometimes, I feel geared up ready to go, and I spend productive time on my writing. Whether it’s editing and revising Horizon Skies or trying to get past the block with Sanctuary of Stone or exploring new ideas, those are the times I feel a modicum of something approaching joy. I’ve always retreated into a fantasy world to escape reality. It’s a defence mechanism, something I’ve been rather adept at since I was a child. My books have always been my sanctuary, through the stories told, I am transported to other worlds, other realities. If I didn’t have such a love for reading, I don’t know what sort of state my mental health would be in now.
I feel the weight of the world, heavy on my shoulders. Veganism has done so much for me, but I have to close myself off to the realities of WHY I became vegan in the first place. This doesn’t mean I stop fighting for animals, I never will. I just don’t need to be exposed to farm footage, lab footage or any kind of media depicting the abuse, torture and murder of any animal. ALL animals are innocent, and undeserving of cruelty. You may love your cat or dog, but how are they different to a cow or a pig?
I’ve had a great idea for a story, which I am now working on. I’m up to eight chapters already, and I’ve only been working on it for the past few weeks. This is unprecedented where I’m concerned! The genre has been done to death (post-apocalyptic, zombie invasion), but I’m hoping I’ll be able to lend a new voice to it. There’s no point having an idea in your head and not doing anything with it.
Maybe this whole happiness concept is what holds me back sometimes. Maybe I don’t feel capable of finishing my work because I’m scared of the response I’ll get. When I first sent out to agents, I submitted without the weight of expectation, I knew it was highly unlikely I’d get picked up straight away, but I didn’t let it put me off. I received some lovely feedback which was definitely more than I could have hoped for. I’ve kept those e-mails as they’ll be the agents I approach on the second round.
Maybe I’m not deserving of happiness? Maybe I came into this existence to experience the desire for it instead?
I don’t know. What I do know is that when I am melancholy, I know who I am. It’s like my natural state, and quite possibly, true happiness would be a strange experience.