I don’t think I’ve ever really been happy. For as long as I can remember, there’s always been a sadness tugging at me. Sometimes I forget about it. I guess that’s when you could say I was happy. But the minute I start to think, then the bad feeling comes back. It isn’t despair. I’ve never attempted suicide or anything like that. It’s just that I’ve never felt good, about myself or about life or about the future. It’s all been an uphill battle. I guess I always thought that’s just what life was—one long series of disappointments interrupted by moments of hope.
