Why can't I be happy?

It's been so long since I was happy…I don't think I remember how it feels or how to get there… 

I feel like others are happy sometimes and it's difficult to be near them.  They must worry about me and understand that I'm fragile and easily bruised and disoriented. 

People probably think I'm weird, if they notice me at all. 

And my tennis game is useless.  Why even try anything with balance or grace.  Yesterday I fell down on the court.  Now that I think of it, that was the first symptom of the lymphoma that quickly took my dad away from me. 

A few windows or moments of happiness.  Of love.  Of connection.  With anything.  Why does it make sense that I can't have those things for myself?  I assume it's simply the reality of PTSD and depression.  Only morons think damaged people like me should just "get up and go for a bike ride and get over it." 

There's no getting over this.  There's the possibility I think of making peace with it and finding self-love and a sense of infinite connection with all of human suffering.  Finding that place for myself, and feeling less alone.

Meanwhile, I can't stand being in another conversation about American boosterism, or about justifying the mass murder of neighbors of people you dislike. Until the US stops being the major producer of global weapons, we have no moral standing.  No one listens to us seriously any more, unless they're forced to because they can hear our drones coming. They know what none of us know--a drone strike is not surgical when you're the target.  It's the same as a blunderbuss, except whoever just killed you had to pay more to the US to acquire it.