Where I come from, 24 hours power supply is something of an urban myth. In the toxic relationship we have with our power supply companies, power comes so irregularly and inconsistently that when it does last for longer than six hours at a stretch, we go into panic mode.
Why is there still light?
This one they are giving us three days worth of electricity in a day, are we safe?
They should please take it and bring it at night o. E better for me say light dey for night
We get so wrapped up in the expected consequences of prolonged power supply that we don’t stop to enjoy the present situation of having power. When the light goes off, there is this unaddressed and unfortunate rightness that settles on us.
We knew it would happen, and it did. The extra hours were just a smokescreen.
That is exactly how it is to have cherophobia
With cherophobia, you learn early that happiness is a mirage; a visitor that never overstays its welcome. It comes when you least expect it. And just when you are getting used to it, it stands, doffs its hat, and hurries out the door. You know this routine so well. You have experienced it countless times. So each time happiness makes an entrance into your life, you regard it with squinted eyes. You scrutinize and question its intentions and permanence.
With cherophobia, realism equates to embracing and accepting the worst possible reality. It’s safer to do so. That way, when the bad comes, it doesn’t hurt as much. Hoping for happiness makes the fall vertiginous and the disappointment more galling.
Sadness has and will always be your old friend, the reality that seems less scary. A sliver of happiness at the end of the tunnel seems scarier than the tunnel itself. Why? Because you know the sky is always calmest before a storm and moments of great sadness are always preceded by moments of great happiness.
You want to fall in love but you jump down from the bus and take the next intersection when love shows up. You’ve been there before. It always ends in tears. You learn never to depend on people no matter how happy they make you. Posterity shows that singular act can be a whole lesson in pain. The way you see it, it is more prudent to pass up on a fleeting moment of happiness if it will be accompanied by even the smallest possibility of pain and sadness.
You are not depressed. Far from it. You are as happy as they come. You do experience happiness, but only in carefully measured quantities. But the thought of consuming happiness, the kind happiness that sings through your blood and curls your feet, fills you with fear.
You get so used to things falling apart and happiness slipping through your fingers that those few times happiness clings to you like stink on poop, you quash it. You turn down great jobs, ruin wonderful opportunities, and alienate perfect love interests. You console yourself with the knowledge that it would have gone wrong anyway.
Nothing that good lasts.
Nothing that good ever finds you worthy of being its permanent home.
For you, happiness is that thing you want so badly, but never seem to believe you deserve.
Originally published on Medium.
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