Is happiness a thing?

I woke up at 330 this morning. Thinking. Thinking about the apartment I moved out of a few months ago. I had lived there for 17 years. That’s a long time! I was wondering in my half asleep mind why I wasn’t mourning the move more than I had.

I did cry once the place was empty and I was leaving it for the last time. I walked around and said goodbye to the empty rooms, walked out onto the balcony and looked at the view for the last time. I cried a lot.

This move was heinous for many reasons. I had a huge amount of shit to get rid of. I had to do it all mostly alone, although I did have help with much- the actual decision making of what went to storage and what got given away and what got trashed was all mine and it hurt a lot. It’s all on me though. I know this, I procrastinated. I waited until the last minute to start purging and it was already too late.

But all that aside, I wondered if I had ever been happy in that old place, or in any of my apartments for that matter. I know I had moments here and there of happiness and even joy but the overall sensation I feel looking back is one of a pervasive depression and resignation that I will never amount to much so why bother?

I have been married 4 times. I am currently married to an amazing woman. The prior ones were to men. I also had a couple long term relationships without the legal ties. And that’s where I look into the lens of the past and see that I wasn’t really truly happy.

I know the reasons why now of course since I came out at age 52. And have resolved the daddy issues that caused me to seek him out in the men I married. Those were important to understand and resolve of course but to look at my past and see how I let life just flow over me without the understanding that it could be so much more.

The men were distant to me, never really trying to connect with me although I tried hard to do so. I always felt like the resident single-married person. And without that connection, I was lost.

I lived on my own several times over the years and enjoyed it but I knew that I was the type of person who did better living with someone. Building a life together. Having a home. And that’s the key- home.

I have a home now. It’s a super tiny place that my wife and I share. But it’s ours. But even more than that, I’m happy.

I have had more pictures taken of me in the last 2 years with her than I did with all boyfriends/husbands put together. I am doing more creatively now than ever. But I grieve a bit for that person I was, knowing how sad she was because I am now on the other side and can see with clear vision. It’s amazing how depression and sorrow can creep up on you and keep you in its particular jail.

I am grateful to be paroled and living a life of my choosing. I will not forget the lessons I learned.

 

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