It has come to my attention recently that there are a number of people out there who would like to see me just grow up, stop whining, and move on. Sometimes as harshly as that, sometimes more kindly stated, but the general sentiment remains that there are those who feel I’m acting immaturely, and they’re sick of it.
I’ve been considering for days how to deal with this, and I’m still not sure I’ve decided. I can say this – the moving on, for now, is not possible. Even if I put forth a sincere effort to do so, it would take time. So that’s not going to happen right away, no matter how much any of us might like it to.
That said, I could fake it. I could just pretend to move on, pretend to be over it, pretend to be okay. I could paste a plastic smile on my face and act like everything’s fine – like I’m enjoying this newfound adventure of life. I could laugh and smile and dance like a loon until everyone’s convinced that I’m fine. And in this way, abovementioned complainers would be placated by my happy-happy-joy-joy external appearance, and maybe enough faking would lead to real, honest-to-goodness feeling better.
But let’s be honest: I don’t want to pretend to feel better, and I really don’t want to actually feel better. And therein lies the crux of the problem. I’m not going to get any better until I want to get better, and right now, I just don’t. Oh, sure, I’m tempted to say that I can’t – that it’s impossible because the pain is so overwhelming. And you know what? To be totally honest, I’d be willing to bet almost none of you have any idea how much pain I’m actually enduring right now. You think you do, but you don’t. You think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. You think this is just the overdramatic side of me, but it’s not. But even given the fact that I have never in my life hurt as badly as I have in the last three weeks or so, I know that I could move past it eventually if I tried.
So why don’t I want to? In part, because I feel very hopeless. I see no reason to believe my situation will improve anytime soon, and at times, I wonder if it ever will. Why should I believe I have anything worthwhile in my future? Why should I believe happiness is there whenever I’m willing to grab it? To have spent my entire life waiting to be a wife and mother, only to be faced with the paralyzing prospect that I might fail utterly to ever achieve that dream and live the rest of my life completely alone – well, it’s enough to freeze me in my tracks for a while at least.
There’s also the simple fact that getting better is, well, hard. It takes effort. And given how much I’m hurting, probably some serious effort. But staying here – wallowing in the self-pity and self-loathing – that’s easy. I’m already here, and if I don’t exert myself to make a change, I’ll just stay here. And that’s absolutely fine by me.
But most importantly, I’m here because I think this is where I deserve to be. Feeling better implies that I think I deserve to feel better, and I don’t think anything of the sort. Remember my post on happiness? Well, in my opinion, at this moment, I don’t deserve to be happy. I don’t deserve to smile, to laugh, to act like I’m okay. Hell – I don’t deserve to be okay. I’m atoning – punishing myself for my past mistakes. Pretending to move on with my life and strive towards a happy future seems… wrong. It screams an entitlement I have no right to claim, and it invites tons of people to look at me and (quite rightfully) wonder, “Where the hell does she get off feeling so good?” And that’s just if I were pretending to move on – God help me if I actually did it.
No, I’m staying here, thankyouverymuch. And yes, I acknowledge that this is my choice. It’s the easiest way for me deal with the pain right now, and how I deal with my pain is really between me and my therapist (who this afternoon threatened to have me “confined,” btw… did you know they actually use that word?). Actually, strike that. It’s really between me and myself. It’s really no one else’s business.
So if you’re finding me annoying and whiny and immature, I invite you to take a leave of absence from reading. In the state I’m in, I’d welcome a little abandonment (or, perhaps more accurately, a little more abandonment). Heap it on the pile – I really just don’t care anymore.