I find myself nervous when I’m too happy. There was a time I used to say without any hesitation that I am a happy person; optimistic and bold, I used to walk forward bravely into any situation, ready to handle whatever crisis came my way. My infamous “crisis head” lends itself well to unpredictable situations, and that assurance bolstered my confidence.
I don’t know if I can call myself a happy person so easily anymore. I’m still, at my core, a happy person. I’m more…frightened now. Ever since my anxiety took hold, I feel nervous about expressing happiness. I get nervous when I’m too happy, because it feels like only a matter of time before I have my happiness taken away from me. It’s easy for that train of thought to snowball into a self fulfilling prophecy and that’s…what usually happens.
I have a lot to be happy about and I know that. I doubt I will ever be an unhappy person. But I’m sad that I can’t give myself the luxury to anticipate happiness anymore. The thought of visiting Pakistan for the first time in years has me feeling nervous. What if something bad happens while I’m there? What if I’m judged for being less Pakistani than I used to be? What if my clumsy tongue stumbles over Urdu out of excitement and I fall back into a protective mantle of hushed English?
What happens if a fight breaks out in my family and I am paralyzed?
I tend to receive bad news or experience bad things when I share my happiness. Call that nazar if you’re superstitious (I know I am, a little) but I’ve been trying to hold happiness close to my chest. I feel wrong guarding it so jealously when my first instinct is to be outwardly happy and share the happiness, but I’m scared.
I guess that’s what it all boils down to. I’m tired and scared. It’s a shitty, shitty place to be, especially when you’re sleepy and it’s close to 11pm. Hopefully I can come up with something more inspirational with the sun.
Neiha Lasharie 