For the rest of my life.

Yes. Yes. I’m a pronoiac. I think that people are plotting to make me happy. They won’t allow me to be sad. It’s very, very difficult, if not impossible, for me to go into depression. I try. And fail.  Time after time.  Guess I have to accept the fact that I’m a natural born Pollyanna. An optimist. Always seeing the good and bright side of life. Even in hard times. I know. I know. I should feel downcast. As if the end of the world is coming. Like normal people. But I don’t want to be normal. I want to be happy 24/7.  With no break for a spell of sadness.  Makes me wonder. If I’m missing. Something that the rest of you have. Consternation. That something is about to go wrong. Instead, for me, everything seems to go right. It’s as if I’m blessed. In a world full of people who feel cursed. Occasionally, I have qualms of conscience. That I should be compelled. To feel sad. At least once a month. So that I could get a feel for sadness. Like the rest of you. You have that feel. I don’t. Makes me wonder. If I should feel envious of you.  And downright deprived. Instead, I merely continue to live life in a happy-go-lucky manner. And settle for being different. A romantic idealist. A spiritual free-thinker. A political liberal. A lover. A dreamer. A writer. Guess I have to face reality. I’m addicted. To happy pursuits. I’m too old. To go in for treatment. I’ll have to stay happy. For the rest of my life. ---Jim Broede