Happiness?

True happiness. That's what all of us want. That's basically our common desire. All we want is to be happy, is that really too much to ask for?

After many nights of crying myself to sleep and waking up with swollen eyes the next morning, I've concluded that to attain happiness, true fulfilling contentment, one must first achieve inner peace. One must be at peace with oneself. But how to? I fear that inner peace will forever elude me, taunt me, mock me.

To feel happy, you must be happy with yourself. Because that's the foundation of achieving more, to let other emotions flow in. Other people can't bring you down, only if you're satisfied with who you are, and what you have become. I think, this inner peace is rare, as people will always find fault in themselves, find it hard to forgive themselves and will certainly think back on past mistakes, eventually reopening old wounds. This inner equilibrium is, in my opinion, the key to living life to the fullest.

At the end of the day, other problems may be solved, can be solved no matter how insurmountable they seem. People you dislike, you may choose to ignore them but at the end of the day, you have to face yourself. It's hard to run away from yourself. It's impossible. When you look into the mirror and you see someone you loathe, there's no way that happiness will arrive.

It's hard to feel happy, to feel anything else, when all you have is self-hatred and resentment. It's literally like building an impenetrable wall around you, and all that's left is the vacillation between loneliness and numbness. And you don't know how to reach out, because you've long lost the ability to, or maybe you couldn't in the first place, and that's why you ended up in the confinement that is your empty heart.

At times, the feel of the sharp kitchen blade against your skin feels.... tempting. In your mind, you see yourself stabbing your heart with it repetitively, and all you feel is dull pain, as if you're anesthetized. You can't feel anymore, and you hate yourself even more for being so weak... so vulnerable. The path is long and seemingly forlorn and perpetual. It looks like, you're the only one on it, searching fruitlessly for a hint of bright light, unsure of how much longer you can hold on.

You know you're pathetic, when all you can do is talk to yourself about how you feel. And that doesn't help much, since your inner demon will always remind you that you built your own cell. You yearn for a comforting shoulder to cry on and you try to dream one up. In the morning, you realize it was just a pillow that you were hugging. That pillow seems like the only thing that's willing to share your endless streams of hot tears, cos you know that it wont get sick of your whining.

It's so lonely... on this path. It's so hard... growing up. It's just tiring... to live.

Sigh.

Happiness... where are you?