I got into one of my top choices for medical school last night, and it’s taking everything in me to try to be genuinely happy about it. I’m pleased, yes. But am I happy? Not really. If I had to personify my neurons, it feels like the majority of them are thinking through all the possible worst-case scenarios that can come from this objectively good piece of news. What if it was a prank call? What if I get sick? There’s one, stray neuron that’s thinking logically, trying to convince the rest to ease up. But it’s being drowned out by the rainstorm of horrible ways things could go.
Part of this could probably be chalked up to the rollercoaster of anxiety and guilt I had this weekend. But most of it is probably due to the fact that, for many years, thinking through the worst-case scenarios was the best coping mechanism I had. I remember feeling some sense of hope when I first started getting sick — maybe this appointment will go well. Maybe I’ll be able to stay up past 6 PM. But as soon as I realized that it was easier to be pleased than consistently disappointed, that outlook changed. Between flaring with a chronic illness, having parents with health issues and going to a high school where stress and hard classes were mainstream, it was easier to think that things would go badly than to assume they would go well. Sure, I might not be the image of positivity, but at least all my hope wouldn’t come crashing down on me when things didn’t turn out the way I assumed they would.
This lack of strong, positive emotion is not all bad, though. I’m also having a really hard time being pissed off or angry. I get frustrated, sure, but I never get to the point where I feel like I’m going to explode. I watch shows with depictions of rape or abuse and I feel frustrated by the injustice, but never angry about it. The news makes my stomach turn, but it only makes me sad or disgusted. I never feel like I could punch out a hole in the wall or attack my pillows in fits of rage. My self-psychoanalysis has told me that anger is a direct response to a loss of happiness. If I’m constantly thinking through worst-case scenarios, how can I get angry when things don’t work out? I might be sad, sure, but I’m not surprised enough to ever feel my blood boiling.
I’ve been working on trying to take in some of the happiness around me for the last year. It often seems like when good things happen to me, there are two reactions: either folks are happy for me, or they tell me they assumed things would work out this way. They tell me I should celebrate the good news, and I’ve been trying to convince myself to do so. It’s incredibly difficult for me to take on those perspectives at the moment, but with every positive piece of news, I try to write down all the reasons why I should be able to feel some sort of emotional rush from it. I fake it until I can feel it, I build stack logical arguments against those in favor of the worst-case scenarios I’ve developed, I make lists of the things that make me feel at peace. I psychoanalyze every emotion I have, trying to determine what exactly I’m feeling and whether that feeling is happiness. Usually, all I can hope for is emotional relief.
Eventually, I hope to be able to feel genuine happiness. My pessimism (or realism, depending on how you look at it), doesn’t extend that far. In the meantime, I hope that those around me can be patient with me. Sure, I might not look overjoyed, but I promise I’m trying to be. I might not be quite as loud or excited as I should be. But I’m working on it. For now, though, I’ll keep focusing on the rationale for positive emotion, and eventually steward myself on the path of feeling it.
My Intestines and Me 