How do we get to be so miserable? Why do we make ourselves so miserable?
Misery is not a fun thing to experience, and yet most people are addicted to the unfulfilling lives they lead full of self-pity. Misery is not something I want to experience.
Call me crazy but I want to be happy.
I want to feel like life is promising. I want to be confident in my bright future and I want to believe wholeheartedly that I am leading and I will continue to lead a good, rewarding, charitable, joyous life. But I am simply one of 7 billion. Now, I know I’m not the only human being who is determined to make the best out of my circumstances and be happy doing it, but these days seem long strewn and crowded with people who are doing the exact opposite. Some people take pride in publicizing their pain and, sometimes, seeing “11 (or however many pity likes you get) people like this” can become an addiction. Have we lost so much of our yearn for privacy that we want the whole world to know our struggle? I don’t know about you but I want the world to see me at my strongest, in my most mindful and pleasant state because I do believe that we judge one another on our emotions. It’s in our nature, we’re human, we judge one another. Accept that.
Past that, some people aren’t truly miserable; they’ve convinced themselves that they are and are working tirelessly to convince the rest of their world that doom lurks around every corner they turn. Fantine, she lost her innocence, the love of her life, her child, her job, her dignity, her health, then her life. SHE was miserable. Jean Valjean, he was imprisoned and made a slave for 19 years because he stole a loaf of bread to feed his starving nephew. And they both remained hard-working individuals who valued their life and their faith. Most people haven’t lost what they lost. I’m not saying that some people aren’t miserable. I’m saying the obvious truth: most people make their own misery.
Tonight, my mother described what I’m writing in my blog as “teenage angst”. Though I’m certain that’s where most of my emotions spawn from (hormones hormones hormones yadda yadda adult talk), my thoughts do not. And this is a blog of my thoughts. Here is my one major thought of the day:
Our world glorifies pain and suffering. We tell one another that misery is beautiful, that sadness is an art. We concede that to craft anything significant in the artistic world, it must come from a world of darkness. Well, here’s your truth. Pity is not something to be desired. It is something to be given to those who are in a real state of grieving. No one is entitled to sympathy and no one is entitled to the question, “What’s wrong?” Depression is not glamorous, and suicide/self-harm is most definitely not a hobby. Being miserable at all times will get you about as far as crying will solve a problem. Announcing a list of burdens is not attractive, nor is it cute. Being a chronically grouchy, mean person is probably the single most obnoxious trait to possess.
I’m not speaking blindly here either, people. I’m speaking from experience. We’ve all been in a place where we make ourselves believe that our lives are so terrible.
But all it took for me was the realization that the world didn’t owe me anything, especially not happiness. I have to make my own joy. I have to understand that I am not the princess and that the townspeople are not going to lay gifts of jovial pursuit at my feet. I must go and grow my own garden of love, for myself and for others.
We may not be in control of our destiny, but we are in control of our outlook on the journey.
— H. Duckworth, 17