But Sometimes I Want to Feel Sorry for Myself . . .

. . . but you can't. The world does not allow self-pity. No matter how bad you have it there's always someone worse off and someone else telling you to get a grip. Is it really necessary to be pissed at the homeless? To assume anyone on welfare is gaming the system? To roll your eyes at those with a handicap license plate? I may be better off then all of the aforementioned groups, but it doesn't mean I'm doing so great. Roll your eyes if you want, talk behind my back, assume I'm exaggerating. None of it makes a difference. Sometimes we all need to just feel a little down.

Let's face it, regardless if you're a happy, positive person or if you believe God has delivered his blessing upon you, or you're just a sad, angry atheist pissed at where your life is, we all sometimes have legitimately bad days. So why are we so judgmental when someone veers from the happy facade and admits that no, today is not so great? Can't we get a time out on the fucking positivity and just acknowledge that having pancreatic cancer at 26 or diabetes at 38 or cancer for fucking ever isn't a dream come true? Divorce, heartbreak, loss, and even just a really nasty hangover should buy us a little sympathy, right?

I'm not suggesting you pity me, but just don't judge me because I take a 20 minute self-indulgent writing break or sob in traffic on a rainy day. We get to have our mini-meltdowns, because life throws a hell of a lot of curveballs. If you manage to maintain your sunny disposition, then I'm happy for you and we're all better off for it, but don't write off my right to feel sad or angry or bitter just because. Maybe feeling that way is what keeps me from going over the edge. For you, it's drawing rainbows with a pot of kittens at the end of it, but for me, it's rye whiskey or a bottle of cava and a few self-pitying tears.

Get over it. Life's a melting pot or a box of chocolates or whatever other dumb metaphor you want it to be. The point, is that crazy bad shit happens and sometimes just subjectively bad stuff happens, but either way we're all just trying to survive and I think we deserve a little self-pity time now and again.

I don't know where my life is going, but it's hurtling there at 185 miles an hour and in the few glimpses of reality I get when I'm not torn between love, casual sex, happiness, torment and any other emotionally battering choice, I slow down to wonder when. Not why or how or who, but when. When will it all slow down and make sense? Maybe it never does. Maybe animals and people get mistreated forever. Maybe we never stop hating the homeless for being poor. Maybe we always hate ourselves for not being someone better. I don't know. I'm just looking for a moment to be myself and for that to be okay with the jury at large.