Friday, June 24, 2011

Happiness is a scab

I pick at scabs, around the edges, checking to see if the wound has healed, won't bleed if the scab is gone.

I keep picking at my happiness, except, in this metaphorical case, I'm expecting blood, trying to find where the injured parts still remain.

I don't trust this happiness, that it's not here for the long haul, that it's not actually real.

In OCD-free moments, I remind myself to just enjoy the happiness, that it probably won't continue unabated forever (nothing can) but that this happiness is proof, too, that the depression/sadness/anxiety also doesn't last forever.


heathre said...

i will be here to gently smack your hand when you start picking :) xoxo

Nanimal said...

screw gentle... lol.
I am all about tough love.

;0. just kidding. glad you are happy - hoping you can rejoice in it. I get t he worry...I too wait for the shoe to drop.