I remember happiness as being those little blocks of time where being alive was worth enduring all the bad times. I think the further and fewer those little escapes are, the perspective of them becomes skewed. Happiness to me is like a magnificent rose, which is surrounded by very long and sharp thorns with poison barbs,and a bed of broken glass beneath the plant. Reaching for happiness is to risk the disappointment of further injury. And partial or even temporary attainment of happiness throws us to the ground so hard when we lose it again. I can totally relate to questioning the very basis of this process.

I must not have given up completely on happiness though, I'm still here. And you are still here. And lots of us are still here. We must have some sliver of belief that it could be better some day.