can't make me.

It's a sad state of affairs, when the genuine happiness that life's small pleasures brings you, is plagued with guilt. Guilt for what? For being happy, when you are not. I want to take that, and exemplify it. Poke it, prod it, and determine why exactly it feels like that is the most unhealthy thing I've felt in a long time. How dare I! How am I to be grateful, appreciative, happy... who am I to do any of that? Surely I don't deserve happiness... surely I've made a wrong turn somewhere. Or is that what you want me to believe? When has my happiness, or my comfort and my security ever been a priority? I don't dare let it show - hold back from letting it seep into the sound of my voice. Just another strike, another reminder... that it is not what it seems. I get caught in the words, the language used... and I start to believe it. Maybe I am selfish, maybe I am {ENTER insult here} like I so often let myself believe. Or maybe I'm a good person, whose made some mistakes. And maybe, it's okay that I'm happy and that I'm finally starting to understand that I not only earned it.. but I deserve it. Maybe it's time I realized that I don't need another person to do that for me, that I actually like me quite a bit. I have a lot to bring to the table, and no one needs to be holding that table up for me. I'll make my own fucking table. Maybe it's time you stopped trying to bring me down, and maybe try and join me, up here. The air feels cleaner, smells fresher. I'm not coming back down, you can't make me. Self-worth is a wonderful thing to get acquainted with.