I honestly think I’m a little bipolar. I go from throwing myself a pity party to being filled with grand inspiration and happy feelings about the months ahead. I am currently leaning toward the latter option, but who knows how I’ll feel in an hour. Or five minutes, for that matter.
My (current) realization is that I make my own happiness. And I’m allowed to have bad days and I’m allowed to feel sorry for myself sometimes. But all the time? Absolutely not. If I tell myself that I can’t do this, there is no way in hell that I will be able to get through this. And even if sometimes I feel like I’m facing the impossible, I can do this. People before me have done it. Heck, Mark’s doing it right now. Granted, Italy is a way better place to miss someone than Philadelphia in January. But he wakes up every morning and has fun. He is experiencing new and wonderful things and meeting amazing new people. Why shouldn’t I do the same? Yeah, I’m in Philly. Yeah, it’s not 60 degrees here, which makes it very easy to lay in bed all day. But damn it, I deserve to be happy. I can be happy, I will be happy. I will actually pay attention to my goals and I will attempt them, each and every week. I will exercise, I will socialize, I will smile. I will fake it until I make it.
So until my next meltdown, I promise to try.