Finding happiness and being a positive force of nature

I would like to apologize to my readers, I have been obsessed with this director’s business and it seems that it is all I’ve been able to talk about. It is also a problem I had in certain of my books. Thankfully my fictional stuff is not about me.

My father, my biggest fan, told me that sometimes he could not bear it anymore, my long speeches about how terrible people can be at work and how none of them appears to have read the right books about great management skills.

And the other half of these books is about my inner misery which is a direct consequence of the first problem, which makes my sister not want to read me anymore, as she says death comes back at every page.

I wanted to become positive, happy people, but I guess that if I am not happy in my professional life, I cannot pretend that life is some sort of utopia where living is just breathtaking.

I think I don’t know how to have fun anymore, I’m not sure I ever did. I read some other blogs about how these people used to go out all the time, take drugs with their friends from college, and have the best time in the world.

I don’t remember any of the parties I have been to, not sure if I have gone to any parties. Well, I suffered a lot at some parties anyway and I could not wait to get out. And I certainly never took drug. No wonder I’ve become an old maid before my time.

I should have just jumped on coke or heroine, just like everyone else around here. Though it is in their past for most of them, I guess it was a necessary rite of passage before reaching adulthood and happiness.

I would imagine there are a lot of these cocaine parties in Hollywood every night. Or other soirées filled with actors and directors and producers. I know some people who would be willing to kill to go to such parties. I don’t, I’m actually afraid I may be asked one day to attend one. Worst, I could be obliged to go.

It would look too much like a conference where you need to be on your best behavior, and that, when you are the producer, is the most boring place on earth. Hell, I even refused to go on tour or speak at conferences to promote my books, though right now I would welcome that if I did not have a full time job in parallel.

Which brings me to the great existential question which is: what is it that could actually make me happy? I sometimes play this game of asking myself: if you could choose right now anywhere in the world where you would like to be, and the perfect and ideal circumstances you would like, what would it be? I asked myself these questions many times, and the odd and only answer is that I would not want to be anywhere else with any ideal circumstances.

I must have lost the will to live. And no success or being famous could change that, I’m afraid. I had a taste of it with my published books, even if none of them made it to the bestsellers lists. I still have many fans and receive emails from them. I just now take it for granted and it has no impact on my happiness.

Shit, I have done so much already, I am published, I have been produced, I’ve lived in Europe for eleven years, I have a great boyfriend of ten years (even if we don’t have as much sex as I would like), I am now in LA with a good salary, what the hell is missing? What is it that will make me happy?

To isolate myself alone on a mountain somewhere, I thought it would be the solution. However it would not make me happy, it will just stop me from having to put up with all these people every day that I just cannot stand. It would be more like a relief. So it is not really a solution to happiness.

Now, how could someone who thinks like that ever write positive and wonderful things? How could I free myself from this negativity and start being impressed with nature and everything surrounding me? How could I ever make other people happy when I am myself ready to pull the plug? I will never, I am doomed.

I wish I could identify why it is that I feel this way. Is it because I am gay, different, marginal? Have I suffered most of my years in high school, being bullied, to the point that it destroyed my will to be alive? Is it because I have started to write like a machine when I was ten years old and it took nearly fifteen years before I was finally published (of course, existential crisis is not your usual topic for a bestseller)? Is it because my parents separated many times and eventually divorced? Is it a mix of all of that?

I feel I was born this way. Like being gay. I was destined to live an unhappy life, in deep existential crisis. And it is more philosophical than anything else. I don’t understand who we are, what is our place in this world. I cannot comprehend this universe we’re living in, or if there is a purpose to our existence.

I had long a time to think about it, to write about it, to talk about it, to read about it, and I’m still nowhere near an answer. Just as I predicted, Los Angeles will not be my salvation.