Saturday, February 28, 2009
Hurts So Good
You've seen the commercial, right? A dimly lit room painted an oppressive shade of beige. An obese person in a grey sweatsuit that matches their skin tone is balled up in the fetal position on the couch. Suddenly a woman's voice asks:
"Where does depression hurt?"
EVERYWHERE.
"Who does depression hurt?"
EVERYONE.
In the commercial, the sour-faced sweatsuiters eventually take meds. After that, they're smiling, playing with puppies, and wearing brightly colored blouses.
Well, ok, great...if that's what you're into.
Personally, I say, what a waste of perfectly good depression. Feel bad about yourself? Well, of course you do. And you should. Face it, you're a mess. But why suffer alone when you can use your own self loathing, envy and resentment as a weapon to bring down the happy people?
Saturday, January 5, 1985
I guess my horoscope was right, it said I was going through a stage of the blahs. If only I could find a way to pull myself out of them, maybe if I stick to my diet and get a haircut I will cheer up. There is a girl in my class named Amy. She is pretty, has boys hanging on her, etc. But I feel sorry for her. That may sound strange, but I do. I have real friends, a family who cares what I do, and a clean record. She drinks and is slutty. Me? I'm happy and secure enough to do what is right for me! So I am happy about that! More in my next entry...
She's pretty, well-liked by boys. Of course I "feel sorry" for her. Big of me, really, considering she's a gin-soaked whore. What do I need with boys anyway? I have my clean record to keep me company. I do think my excessive use of exclamation points is a cry for help though. (!)
Two days later:
Monday, January 7, 1985
I am ashamed to say that I have found myself wanting to just haul off and hit someone. I try to find the best in everyone, but this girl is a liar, cheater, stealer, a backstabber, a flirt, etc., etc. This girl may have hooked a gorgeous 11th grader. I hope not!! For my sake and for the boy's sake!! I don't like writing bad things about people, so on to a new thing. Lately I have felt a tug at my heart very time I hear the song "Do They Know Its Christmas?" I want to help the starving children in Ethiopia in some way, but I am helpless. Maybe not, I can always send my prayers.
It's hard to balance prayer and physical violence, but I managed. Do they know its Christmas? Do the backstabbers recognize their vile backstabbing ways? The answer to both questions was likely no.
Now, to be clear, it's not that I wanted the 11th grader for myself. In retrospect, he wasn't even that good looking. He had absurdly thick black hair that gave him the appearance of a monchichi. (Monchichis are cute, but you don't exactly want to make out with one, you know?) I just didn't want this girl to have him. It's a matter of principle.
Of course, things go from bad to worse:
Tuesday, January 8, 1985
I hate to keep saying things like this, but I just have to let out my feelings before I explode!! I CAN'T STAAANNNDDD HANNAH! Ahhh, that felt good!! Notice I didn't say hate because I try not to hate anyone, even that stuck up jerk! Billy (the 11th grader I mentioned) doesn't really like her. I haven't figured out exactly what his angle is, but I know there has to be one! With a girlfriend like Carrie, he doesn't need a girl who has a zitty nose like a pig! I am working on getting to the real reason of this act, I've come up with a few ideas: 1) to make Carrie jealous, 2) for a big joke to make a fool of her, etc., etc. Anyway, it's Carrie I feel sorry for, she must want to drown Hannah right now. I don't blame her!! More in my next entry...
Oh, 13-year-old me. So naive. Searching for a conspiracy angle to life's injustices. Wishing my classmates into a watery grave.
To my credit, I could have easily put on the proverbial sweatsuit of misery, climbed under the mattress and let my "blahs" take me hostage. Instead I gathered my inner pain and hurled it at those pig nosed sons-a-bitches.
It's a skill I've honed over the years. Misery may love company, but my misery is a trained assassin hunting down those who dare laugh too loud.
I'm not saying this sort of behavior will make you feel better. It may. It may not. But at the very least, it will make other people feel slightly worse.
And sometimes that's all you need.
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