𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

[𝟑𝟒] 𝐓𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐌𝐞 𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐞

It just feels like I worry so much about losing the "perfectness" of my happiness most of the time that I don't get to enjoy it.

But I'm not nervous or tired. Hell, I've even been feeling more motivated that I have in months. The thing is... I'm scared.

Because there's this voice in my head telling me it won't last and to just give up on the contentment I've found to be something of ephemeral. But the thing about happiness is it's all-consuming and euphoric in some strange manner.

When I have good days-- or in this instance weeks, I want the euphoria to last. As I said, it typically doesn't.

And I blame my genetics for that. I blame my genetics for my not-so-seasonal seasonal depression. I blame it for the anxiety that I so often try to put to the side because I'm still trying to convince myself that I'm being dramatic.

I want to be happy. I need to be happy. But there's a part of me that's broken, a part of me that I'm not so sure can be fixed. A part of me that I hope one day I'll forget exists.

I want to be able to feel loved without second-guessing it and hurt without thinking it was premeditated. All the things I wish to do, I can't because by the time I get to them, the euphoric feeling has up and fled.

The whole thing is dumb. And maybe I'm overthinking it. But I don't know.

People always used to tell me that I was in charge of how I feel and others can't make me feel anything if I don't let them. And for a moment, I believed them.

But then what about the people you love? What about when they blatantly fat-shame you and tell you to not eat so much?

The people you love have this way of bending and breaking you in ways strangers could never dream of. A loved one can make you feel whatever they wish to. Even if it's just a subconscious wish they don't intend on acting on.

Like wildfire, you know? But in this case, you're the only one getting hurt. Or at least for now.

A warm hand lands on my shoulder and I turn around to see my dad. A smile instantly makes its way to my face as I leap out of my chair and into the familiar warmth of his arms, my thoughts slipping my mind.

"Dad!" I yell happily as he spins me around. We're both way too old for this daddy-daughter spin-me thing.

"Hey, Gracie." He plants a kiss on my forehead, then on my cheek, and then my temple. He presses his thin lips to my nose before squeezing me tight and trying to pulling away. Trying.

"I missed you," I say into his chest, his shirt bunched up as I hold onto him tightly.

"I missed you the most, bud."

"I smell a lie."

"What's that mean?" He scoffs, patting my back and pulling away.

"It means you need to call more," Sam says before I can even think of an answer.

He isn't wrong though. My dad really does only call when he's sick of work and watching TV. I think maybe he misses having kids running around the house.

"Ah, I forgot about that little shit."

❛❜

A yawn escapes my mouth as my eyes flutter open. On instinct, I reach over to feel for my boyfriend.

I frown when all I feel is the warm bed sheets.

"Sam!" I groan loudly, kicking my legs up and down like an annoyed child. I can hear the shower running so I decide it's best I wait out my boyfriend's arrival.