It’s my pity party, and I’ll drink as much damn gin as I want to.

8 Sep

If we were sitting down to have coffee together, I would tell you…

I need this.  I need to sit down and talk to you.  Thank you for agreeing to meet me.

If we were sitting down to have coffee together, I would tell you…

I want to talk.  I need to talk.  I just . . . can’t?  Or won’t?  I just can’t tell anymore.

It’s not easy.  But, like, really not easy.  I’ve been trying to write this post for the better part of this week.  I’ve spent hours drafting and re-drafting absolutely inane, lame pieces of narrative garbage.  It’s emo and pedestrian.

Pedestrian.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?  That’s how I’ve been feeling.  That I lack in vitality, imagination and distinction; that I am commonplace, prosaic and dull.

If we were sitting down to have coffee together, I would tell you…

That I used the analogies of a snake needing to shed its skin and a thread pulling from the seam of a sweater, causing it to (yup) unravel, to describe how I’ve been feeling lately.

(That is how pedestrian I feel.)

Can I draw some satisfaction from recognizing that?  The diagnosis is poor, but the theory is that at least now I can start to treat the symptoms.  Right?  Or have we been here before?  Because we have.  You may not know it, but I do.

If we were sitting down to have coffee together, I would tell you…

That I don’t know where to go from here.

There are things I need to do.  For myself.  Things I need to do to enrich the soul I feel is a withered, paltry version of its former glory.

Writing, blahblahblah, skating, blahblahblah, walking, blahblahblah.  Things that make me feel a bit more like myself.  (But do you just nod to pay lip service?  Do you actually believe that I can do the things I want to do?  Do you think they’re ridiculous endeavours?  On one hand I think your encouragement is heartfelt, on another hand I’m pretty sure you give zero fucks.)  I even thought to list these activities, and others, in a new book.  A book about feeding my soul, wherein I would track and reflect upon the breadcrumbs I drop to lead me back to myself.

But I worry.  I worry that I would spend more time writing things than allowing them to wash over me in a properly revitalizing wave.  I do that, you know?  I stand and watch from the sidelines.  I take notes and form opinions.  I ponder life and sometimes, if properly inspired, write about it.  What I don’t tend to do is actively participate.

If we were sitting down to have coffee together, I would tell you…

That this is why I’ve reacted the way I’ve reacted.  This is why I have added undue strain to no less than two personal relationships.  I stand, I watch, I take notes and I analyze.  I compare.  It’s not healthy, but it’s certainly not unnatural.  I see things I envy, things this life will not allow me to experience, and I withdraw.  I pull away, I hastily slap up walls, and instead of being encouragingly enthusiastic, or even apathetically accepting, of something fun, new and exciting, I put on my Batshit Crazy hat.

I’m not sure I can be sorry about it.  I’m pretty certain I’m not sorry about it.  It is the way it is.  I am actually sorry that I reacted at all.  It wasn’t worth the trouble.  But I do that.  I speak, and write, without thinking.  What I should do is think or draft all of my crazy into one contained mess and then walk away.  For days.  Then, when I come back (if I come back), I can replace that lunatic hat with the one that Little Miss Rational wears and we can stand to sit in the same room together.

But that’s what I should do.  It’s not what I will do.  I’ll try to, but I won’t make promises.  I’ve learned that much about myself.  I react the way that I react and deal with the fallout later.

(Auburn sits tidily on the redhead side of the teeter-totter.  I have a temper.  Fucking deal with it.)

If we were sitting down to have coffee together, I would tell you…

That I’m tired.

I’m too young to be this tired and too old to be entertaining this much personal angst.

If we were sitting down to have coffee together, I would ask you…

If you have any liquor to add to this coffee we’ve been drinking.  I need it.

(This version of this quote and image is all over the place.  I cannot even begin to suss out the proper linkage.  Let me know if this is yours – I’ll link you up!)

So this “If we were sitting down to have coffee together, I would tell you…” idea came from Shaina at Shadylane (specifically here).  It struck me as a suitably wonderful way to “talk.”  I do my best actual, legitimate talking over hot beverages with people I adore.  It’s safe, accepting and comfortable.

Quid pro quo.

How are you?  If we were sitting down to have coffee (or tea, if you prefer) together, what would you tell me?  What’s on your mind, honey?

The Black Keys – Ten Cent Pistol

UNT.

Oh.  I’d like to leave you with this, too.  It’s a quote from Stephen Fry.  I’m not sure it’s an exact quote, but from what I’ve been able to figure it comes pretty close:

Certainly the most destructive vice, if you like, that a person can have – more than pride, which is supposedly the number one of the cardinal sins – is self-pity.

I think self-pity is the worst possible emotion anyone can have. And the most destructive.

It is, to slightly paraphrase what Wilde said about hatred (and I think that hatred is a subset of self-pity, not the other way around) it destroys everything around it except itself.

Self-pity will destroy relationships; it will destroy anything that’s good, it will fulfill all the prophecies it makes and leave only itself.

It is so simple to imagine that one is hard done by and that things are unfair and that one is under-appreciated and that if only one had a chance at this or if only one had a chance at that things would have gone better: you would be happier if only this.. that one is unlucky.

All those things. And some of them may well even be true.

But to pity oneself as a result of them, is to do oneself an enormous disservice. […]

I almost wanted once to publish a self-help book saying “How to be happy” by Stephen Fry.

“Guaranteed success”

And then people would buy this huge book and its all blank pages. And the first page would just say:

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself

and you will be happy.

Use the rest of the book to write down your interesting thoughts and drawings.”

And that’s what the book would be and it would be true. It sounds like “oh, that’s so simple.”

But, of course, it’s not simple to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Bloody hard. Because we do feel sorry for ourselves.

This version was nicked from a blog called Pootability.

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2 Responses to “It’s my pity party, and I’ll drink as much damn gin as I want to.”

  1. Jackellyn Carcamo (@jackellyn_) September 14, 2012 at 9:56 pm #

    If we were sitting down to have coffee together, I would tell you…how stressed out I am with school, being creative with my blog, clubs, and trying to maintain a healthy relationship. It’s always nice to have someone to talk to, feel free to stop by my blog whenever you need to talk.

    jackellynsq.blogspot.com

    • Kim September 14, 2012 at 10:02 pm #

      Yup. Agreed.

      Awh. I’m sorry life is being all life-y, Jackellyn. Ditto that. If you need/want to chat, please feel free. Anytime. Always. (foxyouverymuch@gmail.com)

      Thank you for stopping by. 🙂 Diggin’ your blog, thank you for the linkage! 🙂 Have a great day!

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