I was looking through my photos and I realised that there was never a phase in my life where I was truly happy.

Every part of my life was underlined by the fact that I was running away from something or did the things I did because I was trying to forget something else.

As I was going through them, however, I realised that there were happy moments. MOMENTS…

Like the time almost a decade ago, my ex took a picture of me when I was on the way to a Easter show. There I am in my favourite stripey woolen top and my black tights, looking up at him, trying to make a cute face. But you can see the black marks around my eyes, because those were the days where my sister was taking drugs, got kicked out and my house was a nightmare to live in. That was a bad phase of my life, the phase where everything started, the phase where I was forced to grow up with no help from anyone. But that day, that moment, I was happy. I was away from the dark house and the dark mood and although forbidden, I was with someone who made me happy, for that moment.

That moment.

Maybe it’s all about moments of happiness. Maybe I shouldn’t expect phases in my life where I am completely happy.¬†Maybe this is all I get?

Or rather this is what I will tell myself until the next phase of depression hits and I am curling in a corner trying to keep the thoughts of death away.

I have to be happy for my kids. I have to stay happy…



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