The ghost of happiness

What if someone told you that misery is all there is?
Would you panic?
Resort to prayer?
Go to Disneyland?
Drink a fifth of Jack Daniels?

What would you think? Perhaps you would not be surprised.

I wasn’t. When the voice in my head woke me up one night (the curtains were drawn, the streetlights were faint and weak, the street was silent, but the thought jarred me…) and told me this, I was not shocked.

Men have epiphanies about stupid shit all the time and mine was no different.
Life is misery.

Misery is the elemental state of existence. Misery defines Real, it demarcates darkness from light. There is great succor to be found in absolute acceptance of misery.

Misery is the only thing that is real, the only thing we can ever trust. Misery is our idol. It is our worship. Misery is my god. Misery never lets me down and will always spring to action if I forget I have no control over this piddling life. Misery is the only landscape that defines our journey.

We all want to feel good. We want to be “happy” and joyous. It’s as if buoyancy is our natural right. We want to smile and we frequently find every reason to contrive some stupid reason to, a reason which we miscalculate as “luck” which is in fact just another kick in the balls.

Misery spawns reality. Happiness mutes it, and this is where we find pleasure.

The muting of misery.

We live entire godforsaken lives muting misery because fantasy is a much nicer place to live.

However, some of us gave up on that dream long ago and we relish the misery. We are misery.

It precedes our steps. Misery announces us.
We do not shirk it. We mock happiness for it is a weak ghost. Happiness is a ghost that can never lay a hand on us.

But misery. It is the weak, rusty bones I sit on, it is the faded dreams and incorrigible gloom I cannot escape.

Misery is my friend and my savior.

I wish I loved happiness as much as you.