Pity Party

My favorite thing to do these days is to act like a tough guy. Somehow the phrase, "I'll punch you in the face" has worked it way into regular usage. Fortunately my friends and co-workers have taken all of my quirky habits in stride and this will likely not yield 1) any actual face punching and 2) and long term issues. But, since I am currently locked in permanent introspection mode, of course I started asking myself what was going on.

Ever since the end of January, when everything got all crazy, I've basically been wearing my "toughness" like a helmet, or one of those awesome neoprene Survival Suits from the Deadliest Catch. Trying not to let anything out. Unintentionally try not to let anything in. Generally, this has been working fine enough. I've been able to keep plodding along and mostly keeping it together. Sort of.

Recently though, I've been falling into these little mental whirlpools that I've started calling Pity Parties because I sincerely feel ridiculous both having them, and then talking about them. My attempts to give myself perspective have been dismal failures. My brain knows that things really aren't that bad. My health, my friends and family, my job, it's all fine. I've been through plenty of situations that have been worse, or at least more appropriate to be sad about.

Losing my Grandmother, losing my job, continual and unexplainable bronchitis for the better part of 18 months, getting the back of my car slammed into at 55 mph and the ensuing 2 years of on and off physical therapy. IT COULD BE WORSE! Because I seem to be better at explaining the root of things by anthropomorphising my internal organs...here goes...the Pity Party...

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(BRAIN and HEART are sitting in a booth at the Golden Nugget)

BRAIN: It could be worse.

HEART: But...but...but...I'm saaaaaaad.

BRAIN: It's okay. But stop being sad. What are you sad about, anyway.

HEART: I don't know. Everything. I'm just saaaad. Let's be sad. Let's be sad and --

STOMACH (slides in next to HEART, puts her arm around HEART): -- EAT! Let's be sad and eat. That was not so terrible? Let's go to Trader Joe's and pick out some cheese and drink Bloody Mary's! I think that sounds awesome.

HEART: Do you really think so? We do love cheese...

STOMACH: Yeah! Remember that time we drank half a bottle of wine and put on all our jewelry! That was totally not sad. We can stop at McDonalds!

JEANS (the pants not DNA) (From under the table): NOOOOOOO!!!! We can't take any more of this eating! We're already dealing with serious seam-structure situations and you don't want to know what BUTT has been threatening! Getting bigger!!!

BUTT (slides into the booth, but on the same side as HEART and STOMACH, making everyone have to squish in. BRAIN sits alone on the opposite side): Um. I totally heard you talking about me. Jeans. Frankly, I'm more interested in what Stomach was saying about getting some cheese. And, fries! Or, fried chicken! OR ALL THREE!

HEART: That does sound good...

BRAIN: I don't know, guys.

BUTT: Shut. Up. Everyone knows that I'm only getting bigger and that means I'm in charge. I make the calls.

THIGHS (in unison, outside the window, waving): What about us? We're helping!

BUTT: Pipe down, get-away sticks. No one cares.

HEART: Okay, okay. Stop. All this arguing isn't making me feel better. I'm still just sad. Can we just sit in the dark and think about being sad and listen to sad music and think sad things? That's really all I want to do.

STOMACH: Wouldn't it be better with a chocolate shake...in the dark...with the music...

BUTT: Seriously.

JEANS: For the love of god, no!

BUTT: Really, Jeans? Who even invited you?

LIVER (drunkenly flops down next to BRAIN) : Heeeeeeyguys. I heard werehavingbloodymarysagain. Yeees! (Hiccup) (lays down on the floor)

BRAIN: No. We're not. We're not having drinks and we're not having cheese.

HEART (starts to cry): But....but...now I'm more sad because I want to have those things...and now you're telling me no. Why don't I have things? Why don't I have someone who will call me just to tell me something nice. Why don't I have someone who thinks I'm the prettiest? Why don't I have a person to bring to parties, instead of walking around like a dork? I HATE GETTING MY OWN DRINKS AT BARS!!! AUGH!! This SUCKS. Someone go get the iPod...

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You can imagine how such internal (har har) struggle can get not only irritating, but makes me feel like a sap. Hence, the toughness-helmet.

What I think bothers me the most, more than just feeling strange, is that it genuinely seems like time is the best repairman here. Similarly to how I wanted somehow to be the person who exacted the consequences on X for his hurtful and vile behavior, I want to be the person that fixes this for myself.

Don't get me wrong, though. What I'm taking about "fixing" is simply my way of saying that I'd love for things to not feel so abnormal. I'd just like to go back to feeling like myself, rather than this sort of self. I can already tell things are far better, and that I'm really feeling lonely more than feeling sad about the end of my relationship...but how easy to conflate the two...

At any rate. We've all been to these personal Pity Parties. Thanks for reading mine.

BUTT: What were you saying about me? Because I totally heard you. Don't make me punch you in the face!