Everybody wears masks all of the time. By ‘everybody’, of course, I mean ‘children’, and by ‘all the time’, I mean ‘Halloween’. When you grow up, you can’t wear your Jason mask anymore because your boss says, “Jeremy, your customers are skeptical about the validity of our product because you constantly wear a hockey mask that is most closely associated with a fictitious serial murderer.”

However, when constantly battling depression/anxiety while simultaneously trying to live a productive life, things can be difficult. As a result, no matter how horrible I feel, I have to pretend to be happy a lot of the time. I don’t have to pretend to be friendly, though. I am naturally friendly. People don’t just want friendly. They also want happy. How much time do you want to spend with a dude who compliments you and pays for everything, but never stops talking about abused kittens?

I think there has to come a point when the mask becomes a part of your face. There has to eventually come a moment when you’re not sure if you’re pretending to be happy or actually happy. Happiness is the uncertainty of not being sure if you’re happy or not. If you know that you’re happy, then you’re not truly happy, you’re just an asshole. There always has to be some semblance of uncertainty, or else I think that it’s somewhat forced. If you absolutely know everything that’s lying ahead of you, and you’re okay with that, then you can’t truly be happy, because the biggest source of happiness is that of surprise.

I kind of got lost in the bullshit I was writing about in this post, and my next post will be about girls.