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agree to disagree 


At a young age, I started to realize that the only way to make my mom happy was to agree with her.?When you agree, everyone is happy… right??But no.?I was so busy thinking about keeping everyone else happy,?I forgot to ask myself what made me happy.
It wasn’t people.?Wasn’t drugs.?Wasn’t love.?And it damn sure wasn’t money.
What truly made me happy??I wondered—and I still do to this day.
At first, I looked for it in people.?But people were looking for their own joy,?and I was just a stop along their search.?They didn’t care too much for me—?not really.
Drugs gave me a high,?a quick escape that made me forget for a while.?But what’s the point of forgetting?if you always end up remembering again??I didn’t want to numb a temporary pain?with a permanent addiction.
Love…?Love was beautiful.?And for a moment, it felt like maybe that was it.?But it hurt—oh, it hurt so much.?Who knew that feeling of being replaced?would awaken a wound I buried years ago??I didn’t even know it was still bleeding.
They say money brings you happiness,?but money can’t hold you.?Money doesn’t ask how your heart feels.?Eventually, you’re sitting alone,?surrounded by silence,?talking to a green paper tree,?wishing it could talk back.
So what makes me happy??I still don’t know for sure.?But I know what doesn’t.?And maybe that’s where healing begins.

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