My Version Of Happiness
“One love, one heart, let’s get together and feel alright.”
“We will start you off with five milligrams,” said Dr. Goodman as she prescribed my first dose of Prozac. Once those words fled her mouth, my brain filled with nothing but negative thoughts. I disappointed my therapist, my family, and most importantly, myself. I failed, I could not help myself, and now I must rely on a pill to feel this unfamiliar emotion of happiness―something I once grasped. Something that has been absent for far too long. Something that for most comes naturally and is not a skill to be learned or artificially supported. At this moment, I realized I was not like everyone else; I did not just feel this automatic sense of happiness; I needed to work for it. I needed to put that pill in my mouth and wash it down with a big gulp of water. That is what I needed to feel happy.
After prescribing my first dose, my therapist told me it might take time to feel a change within myself. Although everyone around me made it clear that a shift in my mood would take months, I ignored them and convinced myself after that pill slid down my throat, I would be happy again. They were right, the swallowing of one pill did not immediately induce happiness. After multiplying my initial dosage by six over the course of a few months, I finally felt that unfarmillar emotion again.
After not feeling this way in months, I was confused by this feeling and its presence was bizarre. I felt joy; I felt like myself again. I was not the only one to notice my new zest for life. My parent’s little girl was back, my best friend Ava-Gator was back, and most importantly, I felt happy again. “ I could’ve done it, but I didn’t” ( Long Soldier “WHEREAS”). It does not matter that I have to take a pill to be happy; it matters that I did not give up on life. I kept going even when I was at my lowest.
In the summer of 2022, almost a year since I took my first pill, I sat in my dad’s car with the wind on my face and the faint sound of Bob Marley in the background. While I sat next to my father, he sang, “One love, one heart, let’s get together and feel alright.” Looking out the window at the delighted, laughing faces of the people around me, I was struck by the beauty of these seemingly simple words.
Those nine phrases and forty-four letters, which were so brief and meaningless last summer, penetrated deeply in that moment. I understood exactly what Bob Marley was trying to say because I had once felt that way. I had once experienced loneliness and solitude so much that I wanted to “get together and feel alright.” These eloquent words moved immediately from my ears to my heart. I noticed my growth from last summer and how much this medicine has helped me look at life through a new lens.
Although my healing journey took time and patience, the time and effort I spent was worthwhile. My initial reaction to needing medicine was a feeling of failure, but later I released all the judgment towards myself. Just as Joy Harjo said, “I release you. I release you” (“‘I Release You, Fear”’”), and that is precisely what I did. I released all that negativity, and kept walking foward. I did not fail, because I am still in this world and ready to continue my life. “— every place, every window, every doorway is an opening to a life — a whole different life, a whole series of stories” (Harjo “The Whole of Time”). Even if we all have different ways of opening that new door to life, getting to that place matters most. I took that opportunity, stepped through the doorway, and started my journey to happiness.
Works Cited
Strayed, Cheryl, and Joy Harjo. “’I Release You, Fear.’” New York Times, 20 May 2020, https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/20/podcasts/sugar-calling-joy-harjo-poetry-virus.html.
Harjo, Joy, and Krista Tippett. “The Whole Of Time.” The On Being Project, 13 May 2021,
https://onbeing.org/programs/joy-harjo-the-whole-of-time/ .
Long Soldier, Layli. “WHEREAS.” Poetry Foundation, Jan. 2017, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/91697/from-whereas.