Born with Eyor's Serotonin Level

Lately, I'm finding that while I'm blogging and twittering away on line into cyberspace I'm able to take a look at my daily perspective over time. I've been able to do this by reading journal entries too, but the difference here is: my bloggs and Tweets are usually edited (somewhat) and previously thought out. Whereas the journals I do are random venting sessions where I spew bile and darkness all over some poor unassuming text or word file until whatever I'm obsessing over passes. What's concerning me is, the reason I edit and think about my public displays of lunacy is because I want them to be entertaining, semi-uplifting and basically positive. Now, when I say positive, I don't mean beaming with rainbows and flowers and golden hope for a better future. What I try to do is empathize and say "Yes, your irrational rage, irritation and delusions about life are real because you feel them. But here is some bittersweet hope to get you through." I'm realizing lately that it isn't coming off that way, at least to me. I just see sadness. I see an unwillingness to let go of that sadness. Like the sadness is my oxygen. Like the sadness is my reality and if I let that go, then I'm Mr. Brady and I'm living some sit-com plastic existance. Now, I don't like sadness but I feel like it's a part of life. It's built into the foundation of reality, it's there people. I can't ignore it. All I can do is not let it consume me. Accept it and do my best to survive and find true happiness, not a cookie cutter cartoon with butter flies. But a wonderous forest with forgotten creatures and beautiful pixies with melohcholly faces. Okay.. forget I said anything...