To life, I mean.
My therapist, as an exercise, has me writing down incidents that bring me happiness. A good idea, yet it has made me painfully aware of a) how few and far between those incidents are and b) just how hard I have to work for them.
Is this normal? Maybe everyone experiences life like this, an emotionally gruelling existence broken up by brief illuminations of happiness. If that is the case, how do people wring enough out of those moments to keep on? What is it that I am not getting?
'It could always be worse', a little voice inside my head is saying. 'You could be starving. Or homeless. Or both. Maybe you should quit your self-indulgent whimpering.'
And now I feel worse. For having a lot, comparatively speaking, and still feeling like this.
No easy answers today...
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