My idea of happiness used to be to not be depressed and suicidal and all the things I was when luck wasn’t on my side. I got what I asked for and even more. Like, sure, there have been truly awful things thrown my way regardless, but it’s drizzle compared to downpour. And now there is so much good, like Karma finally came around to resettle my balance; But I can’t enjoy it.
I can’t enjoy it because I’m not the only person whose luck has turned. Relationship troubles and breakups happen left and right. People lean on me, yet it feels different from when I was the more broken one. I try to keep silent about my success and glee because I know how much it hurt me when I was drowning in an ocean of sad.
A selfish person would enjoy themselves, but instead I feel guilty. I’d gladly give away my luck so that those around me could be happy. It doesn’t matter that’d realise my biggest fear of returning to how it was before, at least I know it. Good things don’t happen to me. I don’t know how to deal. I’m paranoid this is some kind of calm before the storm.
Now that I’m writing it all out I really hope I’m not coming off as greedy, because I am definitely not ungrateful. I feel undeserving, mostly. There is a small part of me yelling I deserved this like yesterday, but it’s nothing compared to this pessimism over positivity.