Losing laughter

I’m not happy. I would like all of you, all of my friends and family, and I would even like me to believe that I am happy. I’m calm. I’m capable of dealing with stress when it comes. I’m capable of making decisions that allow me to avoid stress. I’m thrilled that I’m pregnant. I’m thrilled to be embarking on a new chapter in my life, one where I’m going to be a parent.

Brooke mentioned the other day that she hadn’t heard me really laugh in a long time. I had noticed this about myself. Some things are funny, but I most often find myself laughing along with other people because I think I ought to, not because I’m really inspired to laugh. The threat of losing laughter makes me truly and deeply sad. It brought tears to my eyes when Brooke told me how absent my laughter had been. It was not the only thing that had brought tears to my eyes recently, but it was one of a few.

I probably need therapy. I probably need to reduce my dependence on acupuncture’s calming effects. Outward displays of emotion are necessary to relating to other people, to living. I’m not able to show how I’m feeling, and it’s really limiting me. Being calm and content cannot really replace being happy, but I spent a long time striving for calm and content, with happiness so far out of reach, that I feel like I’m in a good place.

I’m on an outcropping of rock, neither on the top of the mountain nor at risk of sliding down. I need to stop smiling at everyone on top as though I’m not so far from where they are.