“I think I just met the happiest person in the world!” I said, annoyed, to my cat Sebastian. He stared back at me with an irritated look that I believe matched my own, and waited for the rest of the story.

“I mean, good for him or whatever. He was just so nice. Too nice. To me. And there wasn’t any reason for it.” At this point I’ve started pacing. Getting more and more annoyed that I was annoyed by someone who was nice to me. Isn’t that ridiculous? I know it’s ridiculous, so I’m getting more frustrated with myself for being upset about someone being nice to me.

“I just wish I was that happy too.” I said to Sebastian, who now wasn’t even looking at me. I could feel tears pricking behind my eyes.

Sebastian walked away, our conversation clearly no longer holding his interest. He had a dead bug in the kitchen to bat around that was much more important than my crisis.

I sat down on my bed, took a deep breath and swallowed. The tears threatening to break slowly subsided as I started to relax.

The thing was, I used to be that happy. And I wanted that back. But feeling depressed is addictive, and it made me angry with anyone who dared be happy in my presence.