Unhappy

Why do I feel the need to meet a certain standard? I only wish to be happy, but my happiness depends so much on the actions of others. I put my happiness in the hands of others, in the hands of things I cannot control. Even when happiness is within my grasp, I keep it from myself. I put it on a pedestal, leaving it high up in the rafters, pining away at how unattainable it is all the while refusing to acknowledge the ludicrousness of the situation. Am I fundamentally broken? As I ask myself that question I hear it resonating across the gap between us. It seems to be a question popular amongst the doubters and the questioners, the resigned and the hopeless. It is a question asked only by those who are. You think therefore you are. You question therefore you are the answer. Perfection does not ask itself whether it is flawed. So I am flawed. That needs not be a barrier to happiness, yet I make it so. I used it to erect the fence around the pedestal I crafted from mistakes and criticisms of dubious grade. The lush linen cloth draped around the pillar I weaved from negative thoughts, forsaken hopes, anxiety driven fears.
When I can viscerally feel all the effort I put into building this effigy how can I bare to take it down? I look up at that pure white orb perched up top, its glistening light contrasting with the dull silver base and dark accents. I look down at my hands, calloused and scared, soiled from the work I put into my trap. To touch the orb would be to dirty it, or so I tell myself as I continue adding to the shrine. Nothing has been more a part of who I am. I built this place deep within me. But there is only so much space in myself. Only so much can be added before the pedestal tips and my work comes crashing down. And with it the orb. The light would fall, the shadows would flee, and everything would turn white right before it hits the floor, shattering, evaporating into air. It is a thought I've turned over more than once. Losing the light is terrible, but its end is so glorious. Losing the chance to hold the light in yourself is unbearable, but so is not being worthy of touching it. If the decision comes I don't know what I'll choose. I keep adding more adornments, but also I've taken some away. Maybe someday the pedestal will be more accessible. Maybe someday I'll find another place for my happiness.