I’m sitting here on my bed wondering what made Valentine’s Day come about. I found out that it’s something to do with the Romans and an emperor who killed two men named Valentine who then got honored by the Catholic Church on St. Valentine’s Day.

How did we turn a day of remembrance and honor into one of love and lust? I guess that’s just how this world is. However, on this day of love and lust, I am celebrating being alive for another year.

Around this time one year ago I had just been released from the first mental institution that I had been in. And it was a struggle. For me, Valentine’s Day isn’t a holiday full of love and romance. It’s full of happiness to be alive. Happiness that I got a second chance. And not always are we given second chances. But I’m glad I was.

Honestly, it’s hard every day. It’s hard to sit here and wonder why I’m not dead yet. But sometimes it happens. I sit here sometimes wondering why my happiness is limited. It’s always been limited. But everyone’s happiness is limited.

I sit here thinking, why I can’t always be happy? But no one can always be happy. There’s always bad times, you know. But for me, I feel like there’s nothing but bad times. And I’ve just learned how to make myself happier.

Stop doing what people tell you to do. It doesn’t matter if wearing your favorite shirt makes someone uncomfortable. It doesn’t matter if dating your friend's brother makes him upset. Do what makes you happy.

And lately, I’ve been trying. I can already feel a difference. This Valentine’s Day I’m celebrating good friends and good times. Happiness and platonic love.

I’m celebrating being with my family. I’m celebrating my education. And I’m celebrating my depression. If it wasn’t for my depression I wouldn’t have realized how to finally be happy. How to finally be me.