So I'm sure everyone who has read any of my entries thus far can surmise, I'm on the verge of a breakdown. On Monday, my school hosted a student panel of mental illness sufferers, with them talking about their struggles in an attempt to fight the stigma associated with their disorders. I felt I need to go, maybe other stories would help me in the crisis I was experiencing. Well, it did. All the personal accounts were moving, but one was special. I had met the speaker before, very briefly months ago. It was a drunk greeting on a Saturday night because the friends each of us was with knew each other. I would have never guessed what he was going through at the time. He was dealing with severe depression, self harm, and suicidal thoughts. During his presentation of his story, I started bawling. Although we do not share the exact same experiences, something he had said flipped a switch. It woke me up.
Its not because he is miraculously better or all of a sudden he leads a normal, stable life. Its because he is able to say that he is happy he is alive, at least for that day. To feel like that, even for just a day, would make the struggle seem like just maybe it might be worth it.
I think happiness is less of an achievement, something that once earned is constant, but more of an ebb and flow. Although one must constantly work toward happiness, it will never be constant, and sometimes come and go for no reason. But when you do find yourself happy, we have to cherish it, and let its afterglow light the way through a dark night if it follows.
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