Happiness

I am remembering what it is like to be happy.

I think I started forgetting two years ago.
Everyone else wants to forget too;
we came out of pandemic and are all pretending
it never happened.
Maybe I could too if my best friend hadn’t died.

Forgetting happiness is an avalanche.
Once it starts, it accelerates, sliding downhill,
accumulating debris and momentum.
Before you even realize how bad it is
it’s unstoppable.

I tried, I really did.
I thought at first I could just muscle through.
I played the music for his funeral,
with my two longest-term partners
sitting with me, holding my hands
when I wasn’t playing.

The thing about happiness leaving
is that it’s not like sadness creeps in instantly.
Not every day is bad. Not every thought is futile.
The light dims slowly.

I didn’t notice just how despairing I was
for months; when I did, I tried all the usual things:
food, sex, weed. They helped for the moment.
Despair was hanging out over my right shoulder
always waiting for a crack in my shell
seeping in, poisoning relationships, crushing my heart.

I went to the doctor but not the right one.
I got medications but not the right ones.

When I finally found the right doctor,
she changed my meds; the light is coming back.
I found myself today completely, blissfully happy
for the first time in months.

Memory is a funny thing.
It’s so easy to remember the bad stuff.
The beautiful things evaporate so much more readily.
Despair and pain do overcome light, despite what the priests say.

But then, with the suddenness of a summer storm,
they don’t any more, and light starts to seep in
through the same broken spaces that once hosted emptiness.

I am remembering what it is like to be happy.