Happiness comes in many forms. In the company of good friends, in the feeling you get when you make someone else’s dreams come true, or in a promise of hope renewed. It’s okay to let yourself be happy, because you never know how great that happiness might be. Sometimes pain becomes such a huge part of your life that you expect it to always be there, because you can’t remember a time in your life when it wasn’t. But then one day you feel something else. Something that feels wrong only because it’s so unfamiliar. And in that moment, you realize you’re happy.
— One Tree Hill
Am I in a bad place? No. I’m not.
But I have questions. I have too many of those.
There is something unfamiliar that is lingering just before I sleep. It’s there when I wake up too. I’m not sure if it actually is happiness; I want to think that I know what happiness is.
I keep on thinking about what life is. Planning what life should be—my life. I think about all the things I’ve done—would I die content if I didn’t wake up tomorrow morning?
Would I die content knowing that I’ve never had another human being’s lips on mine?
That’s what I always zero in on. I don’t know why I’m placing so much importance on this. I know I’m placing too much importance on this. And because I am, I think when it finally does happen, I’m not going to feel the fireworks and that whole shebang. Because I’ve built it up billions of times in my head that it will never match.
I can’t get out of determining my life as a fail or a win because of this kiss that doesn’t exist. It’s wrong. It’s so fucking wrong. There is more to life than kissing, god damn it.
I’m kind of dying inside here.
One Tree Hill is ending forever and David has finally started Day 1 of a 730 day trip. I don’t know how well I can handle staples in my life, things that have been there for a minimum of four years, suddenly disappearing. Even having advanced notice does nothing: there are some things you can prepare for and some things you just can’t. Not really. I feel that all I can do is get some tissues because I know I’m going to cry.
And I am not the crying sort of person, folks. I don’t cry over television shows or people I’ve never met. I’ve only ever cried over 1 or 2 movies—and I’ve watched a lot of heartwrenching ones.
Today has just been a very up and down day. I woke up this morning knowing that it would be the last morning for a very long time I’d feel like David was still here, really here—and I know that sounds so fuckin’ corny, but that’s just the way it felt. I wallowed for a while in his music before being kicked out of bed, tired. Because that’s another thing: I haven’t slept very well for the past week—I’ve had work, uni, tests to study for.
Speaking of tests: I aced my Spanish test. And sort of aced my French one. A High Distinction and Distinction, respectively. Finding this out today really helped me lift my mood. I stayed up there, riding the rainbows in the sky (it did rain today) until I came down home and watched the penultimate episode of One Tree Hill.
Brooke breaks my heart so much because, even though she’s been through too much drama in her life, I want her life. I want that 3001th chance, the at last successful 3001th chance. Heck, I want to be as courageous as her and ask my parents at least half as many times as she has. Because Lord knows I haven’t. Lord knows I can’t get over the way I get hurt, the way they hurt me, even with foresight.
Brooke also burnt her diary. I’ve been thinking about my diaries. I remember I started journalling sort of seriously in high school. I can’t remember for sure about where I put them, but I have a vague idea of where they are. But I am not concerned with burning those ones; I am contemplative more of my adolescent years, where I journalled deathly seriously.
If you know me, you’ll know I’m a bit of a control freak. I’ve often wondered what makes you a stronger person when it comes to diaries: burning them or keeping them. If you burn them, you can say you’re in control of something in your past, a past told from your perspective. No one else can have that—it is your prerogative to keep (to share some day) or burn. Also, for me, I wouldn’t be burning them because I have something bad in my past. I think I just like the idea of being in control of a knowledge, my knowledge.
But if you keep them…I feel like you’re in control too. You’re choosing not to be seen as vulnerable—because if you burn them, it can make you look like you’re ashamed of your past. Which, for the record, I am somewhat ashamed of…but not enough to burn it.
So, as I have before, I think I’m going to continue sitting on the Ambivalence fence, even though I think I’m ready to set my foot down on the green.
