My happiness never sticks. I feel it for a few minutes, maybe even hours, and then it slides off of me. Disappears.

The memories I have are nice, they get me through the lonely nights, but memories are never enough. I don’t want to remember a time when I was happy. I don’t want to long for the past or imagine a better future. I want to be happy now.

But I find something to complain about, even when my life is going well. Even when the only complaints I have are about petty little things, things that most people would call me crazy for even noticing.

I’m just so used to disappointment. I’m scared of getting excited over anything, large or small, because I feel like it’s going to be torn away from me the second I start to enjoy it.

I just don’t want to get my hopes up. I don’t want to feel a surge of happiness and then be yanked back to my miserable reality.

That’s why I’m a pessimist. I see the dark side of every situation. I do it to protect myself — but really, I’m only hurting myself. I’m setting myself up for sadness.

Instead of enjoying the good moments, I worry about the future. I can’t have fun flirting with a boy, because I’m wondering if he’ll call me the next day. I can’t enjoy nights out with my friends, because I’m thinking about all of the things I have to do the next morning.

I’m never present. My mind is always somewhere else, set in panic mode.

But I’m not attached to my misery. I don’t consider it a friend. I’m not afraid to part ways with it.

I try to be happy, I want to be happy, but it’s hard to reach that point when I feel like I’m judged over loving my life, loving myself. I never tell my friends about the boy that bought me flowers or the compliment I got from my boss, because I feel like I’m bragging. I feel like I have no right to talk about it.

No, even when I actually am happy, I find it hard to enjoy the emotion. I feel like I haven’t earned it and like it’s all going to get taken away from me soon.

I feel like every time the universe gives me a good thing, it will eventually be balanced out with a terrible thing.

I’m worried that I’ll never be happy, because I don’t give myself permission to be happy. Because I feel like I don’t deserve to be happy.

But I do. I deserve the smiles and the laughter and the fun nights out. I deserve to relax for a change instead of worrying about where the next moment will take me. I deserve to love myself, to be proud of the person I’ve become.

And so do you. You deserve it all.