Sad is single
Happy is double
Sad is lonely
Sad is bad
Happy is glad
Sad is worry
Happy is easy
Sad can’t sleep
Happy rests deep
Sad has pill
Happy has will
Sad is stranded
Sad looks down
Happy looks around
Sad is short-sighted
Happy is excited
Sad is flabby
Happy is horny
Sad is gray
Happy is gay
No, it’s not the fear of cherries, but the fear of happiness.
I think I might be suffering from this a little bit.
After coming out, feeling ready, willing and able and tumbling, I realized that there is a deep-rooted uneasiness within me when it comes to potential pleasure or happiness.
I think I know exactly where it comes from.
Whenever I experienced great happiness in the past, it always seemed to be followed by great despair. So I have developed this strange belief that in order to avoid heartbreak, I must avoid being happy.
The result is depression. A self-inflicted condition due to a state of mind.
I am just becoming aware of this now. It’s quite disturbing. I’m not sure what to do.
Whenever I realize something, I write it down. This is how I give it a form and shape. I find it easier to tackle after it becomes visible, observable and describable.
Cherophobia: aversion to happiness. There is some of it within me.
I’m sure the universe will take care of it. If this is something that should be kicked out of my belief system, then let the butt-kicker step forward. I welcome him. Or her…
When was the last time I panicked?
I think it’s when I imagined myself reconciling with my wife and then the two of us making love.
After I had this thought, there was a pain in my stomach. I felt my guts twisting. My intestines turned to mush and I had to run to the bathroom. This is what happens when I panic.
I don’t quite understand because it was not a bad thought. Maybe this shows how much our relationship has deteriorated. Or maybe it shows how afraid I am of getting close to a person I don’t trust.
Is this what survivors of abuse call a trigger?
Who is pushing you?
Who is pushing me?
I have been so used to being pushed, that the day it stopped, I felt something was wrong. So I turned around to have a look at the person who had been pushing me all this time.
Who are you, pusher?
This reminds me of a post I published recently, entitled The Inciter. Plus another one entitled Brave Submissive in which I wrote that I was going to report him/her. I don’t think I reported this person yet. I’m still afraid. Why am I afraid to report him?
Let’s investigate my fear.
First of all I must ask myself: Am I afraid of the pusher? No. The answer is no. The pusher gives me what I need. I like him. Without him I’d be lost. But then who am I afraid of?
See, he’s pushing me again! He’s the one who asks me these unpleasant questions. Always asking why I do the things I do, why I think the way I think, why I feel the way I feel. He’s pushing me toward self-discovery. But why does it trouble me? Don’t I want to discover who I really am?
Yes, but today’s subject is the pusher himself. It’s not about me this time, it’s about HIM! Or her. I don’t even know if he’s masculine or feminine! Actually I do. He/she is both.
Let’s start by giving him/her a more appropriate title, other than “pusher.” This is where I become uncomfortable. I don’t want to pronounce this title. I hate the word. But I have to say it. It’s going to be the last word I type on this page.
Why do I hate the word? Because it means everything and it means nothing. That’s right, it’s such a meaningful and meaningless word. Yet this word is his title. It can be replaced by similar words which mean the same thing, but this one word is the shortest, simplest and truest of all.
I intend to report you. Yes, this is what I’m going to do. Since this is the only freedom I have left, I am going to take advantage of it fully. Which reminds me, by the way, that you once said I was a reporter. So this is what reporters do. They report. Then here is my first report.
I’m not angry. Do I sound angry? Maybe I am a little. I don’t even know how I feel. I’m shaky, I know that. I feel like something is going to be released, finally. My insides are trembling. Nervous, that’s the word. I feel nervous and I don’t even know why.
There is so much I want to say, I don’t even know where to start and I don’t even know who to address. Who am I addressing? You, the one I intend to report or the reader? Both, because I’m making it public and I know you are reading it too. You read everything I write.
Two reasons to be anxious: you and the reader. But first you. The fact that you are letting me report you. How bizarre. Why does it feel so unsettling? Because I’ve never spoken of you so overtly before. You have been my secret for such a long time and I’ve only spoken of you enigmatically.
Now I’m about to speak of you very bluntly for the first time. No more mystery. No more poems. No more parables. Just the plain truth, as raw as it gets, even if I’m afraid of how it might come out. I want to do it.
I need to do this. The time has come. No matter how hard it is and how much I shake and fear. I’m tired of keeping it bottled up inside, it’s driving me insane. Although I know I’m going to sound crazy to some. I don’t care. I’m not doing it for anyone else. I’m doing it for my sake and probably yours too… beloved goddess.
They come in
They get into
They break in
I don’t like these intrusions
I can’t stand these transgressions
I can’t take these violations
There is nothing here to learn
Except to protect myself
Against foreign invasions
Here is another wonderful “talking to myself” session. This one will be recorded publicly though. Perhaps to shame myself or to entertain bored readers.
I’m tired of thinking of her. It’s a waste of time. If I could change the way I think of her, that would be great. I should hypnotize myself to make me love her. That might work.
Love her? No thank you. “Like her” maybe. No, not even. Accept her. Yes, I could start there. Accept her current existence in my life. Can I do that?
Well I think I have accepted her already. I let her be, don’t I? I let her affect me too. Maybe this is what I should be working on. I should not let her affect me. Or, I have a better idea. Why not let her affect me and then transform the effect into something good!
Let’s try it. She said this yesterday, after I said to her that she already has everything: “No, I don’t have a husband who loves me.” I did not reply because I knew what it would trigger. So I just kept silent. I absorbed it.
Now the phrase is coming back to me and Oh! I could smash… never mind. There is no use smashing things. She sincerely wishes that I would love her. Why should I let it upset me?
I cannot love her simply because I can’t trust her. And that’s ok, I don’t have to trust the people I don’t trust. There is a reason why I don’t trust her. She is not trustworthy. To me anyway.
I trusted her at the beginning and she took advantage of it. She profited. It was her choice or perhaps not. Maybe she had been programmed by her family. Or she programmed herself in order to survive within her family.
Whatever it is, the issue is hers, not mine. And she refuses to look within herself. That’s why she suffers from anxiety. I can’t help her. Would my hugs help her? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I don’t know. And you know what? I don’t care whether I can help her or not. I’m trying to save myself here. I have spent enough energy for her already. The little I have left I will keep.
Sorry dear. I know you’re drowning but I can’t help you.