I am exceedingly unhappy right now. There are some central causes of this, and I know what they are. The problem is, the idea of changing those central causes so that they are no longer causing this is making me ever more unhappy.
I'd complain about it and say that I don't know what to do about it, but that's not the case.
I'd like, though, to have the time and the space to work through each issue one at a time, in my own order, as I think they need to be addressed. I don't want offers of help or even to be asked what these causes are. I don't even want to be treated like I'm unhappy. Mostly, I want this journal entry to be written, but to be dead: it doesn't actually exist.
Why do I want to go that route? Why do I want to pretend that things that are so damn real to me just. . . aren't? Because that's how I work through things. I know who I can go to and what I can go to them for, so there's no worries that I am slogging through things alone: I have the best friends, religious community, and family a guy could ask for.
So yeah: this entry isn't here, you aren't reading it, and I'm the same guy when you see me next as when you last saw me.
It isn't a mask of happiness. . . It is happiness you see on my face.
And you know that last statement is true: it's the statement a happy MJD would say, and there's no question of that. MJD's don't live in denial: for us, there is no such place. There is only the reality we live in, and that reality is made up of things we accept.