For the past year I’ve been visiting a psychologist about my struggle with depression, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can choose when you’re happy. I often go into depressive states where I can do nothing but lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and think of sad things. As soon as I realize I’m doing this when I could just as easily be in a better mood I turn on That ‘70s Show and I feel much better.
But why choose to be happy? Why not be content with whatever mood I’m in just to get it out of my system? I got this idea from another one that I’m pretty sure I got from Forrest Gump: In war, you have to sleep whenever you get the chance, because you never know when your next chance will be. Sometimes I can’t choose to be happy. Sometimes there’s too much darkness in my life and there’s no escaping that. It can last anything from half an hour, to half a year. I once went six months with suicidal thoughts as often as every other day. You can’t turn on the television to climb out of a hole like that. Instead, when I do have the choice to be happy, I choose to be happy. There’s no use wasting a day just to be sad when I could watch a few episodes of my favourite show to perk me up, get any work done I need to, and just be a better person to be around.
But sometimes a show isn’t enough. Maybe it’s just not the right thing I need to get my mind off things. One option that I always do whenever something exciting or eventful happens in my life: I write it all down in my journal. I explain the event and how I feel about it in the most humorous way I can. I’ve been doing this since my freshman year, and each time I write in it, I imagine reading it out loud to my future kids when they reach the same age. It’s relieving to know that just by writing simple things in my life I might actually be helping someone through their high school years—because it’s hard. Sometimes peer pressure, bullies, homework, parents, the rest of the world is just too much and there’s no exit door with “Happiness” on the front and a television on the other side. You have to face these things.
Option two is a little harder to wrap your head around. I have this weird thing where I like to be angry. I like to complain. I like to yell. I like to get frustrated. Maybe it’s so I can let out my anger in a healthier way than screaming at a loved one. But when something bothers me even the slightest bit or I just see a good opportunity to see if someone will believe me as a kind of joke I grab the bull by the horns and thrash it against the wall. The other day a girl in the lunch room walked past my friend with pizza cheese smothered in red sauce hanging over her tray and it almost touched my friend’s white shirt. In my head I was cursing up a storm at this girl and after she was out of earshot, I verbalized this cursing-rant to my friend. Usually she gets a little scared when I do these to her (because she still can’t tell when I’m joking) but this time she simply told me that she loves me. I felt proud of myself for literally watching her back. I was happy about it. And it always makes me laugh every time this same friend believes that I’m angry with her, when I pretty much never am.
Since I’ve realized how much these three techniques have helped, I’m rarely unhappy when I don’t have a reason to be. Other than fake anger and quoting TV shows that nobody watches anymore, I’m a much nicer person to be around. I have stopped making fun of people as much (although sometimes, even the nicest person can’t help it) and I haven’t thought of suicide in almost a year. I am proud to be happy because I choose to be happy.
My favourite thing about this essay is that I took the time to choose to be happy today to write this essay in the first place. For the first time in a while, I worked out, then I took a shower and actually shaved my legs, I put on some of my favourite jeans with my new French belt, turned on my GrooveShark playlist completely made of Billie Piper, sat down on my bed, and simply started typing away on my laptop. I am happy, and I am proud. I see nothing wrong with being proud. Now I'm going to go read my history homework /:
