Color Me Tragic

     

I don't make decisions, decisions make me. 

I am practically incapable of making any decisions in my life, and instead I permit life to sort of just unravel and occur around me and then I figure out how to fit myself in to it. 

I don't know what in the fucking hell is wrong with me.

I don't act, I react.

I don't think I've ever been in a situation where my actions weren't just my reactions to given circumstances that happen to present themselves.

I don't think ahead. I don't plan ahead. Shit, I don't even make a lunch for myself in the morning before I go to work because it doesn't occur to me that I'm going to be hungry in five hours. 

I've never planned for the future because I've been too busy surviving in the present.

I wouldn't know what it means to be happy if it stood up and punched me in the face. I understand what it means to be miserable and lonely and sad and depressed. Happy? I don't know if I know what that feels like. Which doesn't mean I haven't tried, I'm just so used to the other feelings and have become so comfortable and familiar with them over the past thirty years I've been on this earth that to be happy would be a push out of my comfort zone.

How does one even attain happiness? How does one even try to attain it? What does it even mean?

Was it that giggly, light-headed feeling I once had? Was happiness that time that I couldn't stop smiling? And that time that I wanted to just... melt? Was that happiness? And if so, how do I ever get that back?

You once called me "tragic". I don't doubt there's truth in that.

I just don't know any other way to be.