Even as a child, I knew that I wasn’t shiny.

I’ve always had a knack for seeing the dark side of everything. I didn’t skip along happily, my ponytail bouncing. I wanted to be like the other kids, full of joyful exuberance, but that just wasn’t who I was.

Look at those people. So fucking happy.

Why can’t I be like them? What the bloody hell is wrong with me? I want to feel that power, have the ability to jump up and down without a care in the world. I want to wear a red dress too.

Meet me in the crowd, people, people
Throw your love around, love me, love me
Take it into town, happy, happy
Put it in the ground where the flowers grow
Gold and silver shine

They must all be on something.

You see? I cannot fathom why they are so damned happy. I have to make a snide comment riddled with sarcasm in order for it to make any kind of sense to me.

Did they all drop acid? Wash their colorful frocks in prozac water?

Even when my meds are doing their job, I still don’t have any inclination to frolic in a meadow. I would much rather walk through a graveyard and feel the energy from the multitude of dead people who once lived here on this planet. They know the answers now.

Damn, that is morbid, isn’t it? Maybe I am more disturbed than I originally thought.

I’m not saying that I don’t feel positive emotions. I love my family and friends. I am blissfully happy when I awake to a fresh cup of coffee.

And a tar laden cigarette.

I’ll never be a shiny happy person. It is what it is. I envy people like that, who can see the bright side of things.

Shiny happy people holding hands
Shiny happy people holding hands
Shiny happy people laughing