I think the secret to being happy is being grateful.
I’ve never felt that having narcolepsy was unfair — difficult, frustrating, upsetting, yeah of course, but not unfair. Life owes me nothing; I have no claim to being healthy. I don’t deserve to even be breathing, and I have so much more than just breath — I graduated from college, I have a family that loves me and running water and a house and talents and when I want to buy a stupid Covergirl eyeshadow at Wal-mart, I can, because I have disposable income.
Every heartbeat is extravagant, and we can do nothing but receive, and I don’t want to receive passively. It is a gift just to exist in a world that spins around the sun in living color.
That is the one of the blessings of having narcolepsy — I can’t live as if I have all the time in the world to live and accomplish my goals and pursue what matters to me. I don’t have time. I don’t know what I’ll feel like tomorrow, or even an hour from now, if my meds will help or if I’ll be smothered under the weight of sleep.
Every minute that I feel good is a blessing, every morning that I can wake up early enough to take a shower, every time I get to do something that is more than just surviving. Even things that are objectively boring, like unpacking my belongings, a week late — I did it, I had the energy to do it and I did it, and I’m grateful.