Blending the Light and the Darkness
I love my happy mind, the one that enjoys activities and people and the simplicity of a clean, colorful home, the mind that delights in playfulness and whimsy, quick to laugh at the silliest of situations. That mind swears it can always be this good, if I stick to a schedule, if I keep up motivation, if I don’t stop because I’m tired or even overwhelmed by all the positivity. When my cynical mind comes back around to claim its time, I’m not loving that, and in fact, I’m angry. I ask why it’s such a downer. But then, I’m more familiar with it than the happy mind, as it seems to be more of who I am. Happy mind is a more elusive state, less connected, and highly irritating to think of when my darker side prevails. Yet I pursue happiness as my ultimate goal, as if I just haven’t yet hit on the secret to holding it. Depressed days, certainly not as dire as before medication, mock me as if they’ve been holding echoes of my anguished cries and are now releasing them into the air. I’ve o