A while back I started a blog on Tumblr, where mostly people put pictures and quotes and videos and reblog the shit out of one another, so I don’t really know how I have ever managed to find something new but there we have it. The beauty of the Internet. Some crazy asshole is always making something new and THANK GOD, because how else would I spend 9pm to 3am every day? Anyhow, I deleted it when I went crazy after that divorce thing happened and then, shortly thereafter, resurrected it but didn’t use it to post more than a handful of things that no one ever saw. Recently, I started using it more because I like random bullshit and pressing REBLOG is a billion times easier than coming here and writing FEELINGS CRAP CRY CRY CRY FUCK THAT SHIT. You know, the usual. Then Leah got on board and I started following some new people and things got kind of interesting…and then things got kind of annoying because you know what Tumblr is? It’s 2% unique content and funny people (like my wife who doesn’t know we’re secretly married, Hey, Stop It and the ridiculously hilarious Megan Amram) and 98% feel-sorry for my self sad-sacks with a shit-ton of feelings and entirely too much access to quotes about unrequited love and despair. Occasionally they try to dress it up with inspiration but in the end they’re dead inside because someone broke their heart or the world is against them or WHERE ARE MY XANAX!?
Look. I know I’m no bag of treats day in and day out in this joint. Word! The last year has been one bullshit after another and I probably make up at least 5% of that 98% of manic-depressive Tumblrs with too many feelings. Okay? There it is. BUT. And this is a big one…perspective and self-awareness and the occasional moment of clarity. I have those.Sometimes. Not today, that’s for sure. Maybe in a coffee can buried in the yard for safekeeping. I can’t remember but I KNOW THEY ARE AROUND HERE SOMEWHERE.
If you’ve followed me for any length of time, or if you know me in real life, you should understand that my feelings here are, first off, incompletely expressed. I share what I want to, certainly not my life in it’s entirety because, seriously, no one deserves that but Leah, and only because she and I have a mutual energy exchange thing going on wherein we murder one another with our life-horrors so that no one else must endure it. That’s what friends do and that’s why we’re the best and, also, insane. ALSO, let’s all acknowledge this for one moment and then forget it ever happened: I exaggerate for effect. GOD. I can’t believe you made me say it. Things aren’t always that bad (yes they are), I don’t think I will be alone forever (yes I will), I don’t hate everyone (yes I do) and not everyone is a whore (yes they are. especially that one).
I’m just as prone as the next guy to feel sorry for myself. Of course I am. Everyone has those moments where we just need to collapse onto the floor, cry and proclaim that no one will ever love us, we’re too stupid to be alive and we’re probably going to die and get eaten by our pets because no one will care enough to come find us. Right? RIGHT!? I know it’s not just me because I know some people…and SHIT…I am a motherfucking carnival of good times in comparison. Seriously. I’ve had people say to me I WAS JUST BORN TO BE MISERABLE. And that wasn’t because they were singing a Smiths song, you guys. THIS IS THEIR LIFE MOTTO.
My point (and I SWEAR TO JESUS GOD I have one) is this: STOP. Stop the madness! Stop your bullshit. Stop putting this ugly crap out there. Let’s all just stop doing this so we can move on and not depress the shit out of one another. I know it’s hard work…BELIEVE ME. I’ve been going to therapy for a million years now and my therapist has taken to sighing audibly every other minute and saying PLEASE SHUT UP ALREADY ABOUT YOUR STUPID LIFE, I HATE YOU. AND, that’ll be $400 please. I understand that it takes a lot of effort to pull oneself out of that big black hole BUT YOU HAVE TO DO THE FUCKING WORK because YOU ARE KILLING ME. You are killing us all. We are taxpayers in pain! IN PAIN!
I will share my medications if it makes you stop.
Look. Some day I’ll learn how to make a succinct point and we can all move on with our lives, but today is not that day.
Here’s what’s going on in my mind grapes. I saw two quotes on Tumblr this morning or last night – I can’t remember because life is too hard to recall what was when – that set me off. The first:
I’m, probably, the queen of over-dramatics out here on the West Coast and even this made my eyes roll so far back into my head I had a seizure and died. No one can take your ability to love away from you. Seriously. This is a decision we make on our own – to love someone or not. This quote is just a stupid thing we say when someone has done something and we’ve gotten hurt – we’ll never love again. Whatever. NO ONE CAN DO THAT! I want to scream that so fucking loud right now because it is probably one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard in my life. And I say a lot of stupid things so, SERIOUSLY…
Now. I’m going to go on a massive incoherent rant that will likely be used as evidence for my family and friends to check me into a mental hospital, but before that happens I’d like to share the other quote that is balls-out bullshit:
I just threw up so hard I exploded, which is a hard thing to do when you’ve already eye roll-seizured yourself to death.
First things first, is just an expression I am using that is completely inappropriate here because nothing about this is first. It’s like…first things forty two hours ago. Anyhow. First things first, Janie just reminded me that the second quote is from a song that I like. And I thought about it and that’s TRUE…but I like the song aside from this. Is it possible? YES BECAUSE I SAY SO. Actually, as soon as she said it I remembered the song and also that every time this lyric comes up I drive my car off the road and into a telephone pole because of all the eye-rolling and seizures. My insurance rates are astronomical.
OKAY BEGIN RANT NOW!
When any relationship ends it s always going to be an emotional challenge, especially when you’re the one who has been left. You don’t get the last word, you don’t get answers, you don’t get a choice you just get…well, left. Admittedly, that is probably one of the worst feelings in the world…the idea that you aren’t good enough for that particular person. That’s what it feels like, at least…not being good enough. Because if you were good enough then things would be okay…they’d want you. They’d need you. They’d love you. And you get sucked into this lie about how they were the only one for you, you can never find what you had, you’ll never love again! They’ve ruined your life and it isn’t even half over! You’re going to move into an apartment in Queens with 14 cats, a hedgehog, two monkeys and all wicker furniture and you’re going to smell like a combination of breakfast foods and moth balls and your only friend will be that dude across the hall who suffers from an anxiety disorder and night terrors. THE HORROR! And then you fall into this miserable pity party, woe is me ditch on the side of the road and while all those happy people whiz by you in their fancy family-friendly cars with their two kids and dog and they’re shitting rainbows while the Carpenter’s Close to You blares out the window, you’re singing Total Eclipse of the Heart and screaming at your ex-whatever that they did this to you! THEY TOOK AWAY YOUR ABILITY TO LOVE! THEY PUSHED YOU IN THAT DITCH even though you fell in it four days ago after you got drunk on cheap rum and called the drive-through cashier at Taco Bell a shitbag.
THIS IS ALL BULLSHIT.
Short of suffering the worst of mankind’s tragedies like starvation, oppression, violence or being forced to watch a full-length DVD of Celine Dion in concert, I’ve had one of the shittiest years a first-worlder with no real reason to complain has ever had. I AM EMOTIONALLY RETARDED NOW. More than before. Terrible things have happened. I have suffered several soul-crushing heartbreaks that left me, literally, gasping for air. I can tell you…I have felt like my heart has been torn from my fucking body and ripped in half. I have thought for many moments that OH GOD NO…that was my last chance and FUUUUUUUCK. It’s gone and I’m going to be alone forever. I could not even imagine what it might be like to want to speak to someone else ever again.
But the thing is, thinking like that is what gets us into trouble. We’re the ones who control how we react when another person does what that have every right to do – walk away. Does it always make it easy? Shit, no. There is a process called grief…and how we work through that process is entirely individual, but a major component of that is WORKING through it. Not standing still and drowning in the pain of loss. Not sitting in a puddle and blaming the person who spilled the water for how we are getting our favorite pants all wet. YOU CAN GET UP. YOU CAN GET UP AND DRY THOSE FUCKING PANTS AND MAKE TERRIBLE ANALOGIES OF YOUR OWN. But sitting around making Tumblr quotes or writing shitty lyrics to otherwise decent songs won’t make it better because those are just lies we tell ourselves to feel better and tell the people that hurt us to make them feel bad. Because maybe if they feel bad and know how much we hurt they’ll come back. Maybe they will feel bad, maybe they won’t. They’ll probably never come back and shit like this will only make them want to run farther away because FUCK YOU. Handle your shit. Go to therapy or take medication if your brain breaks down (Holla!). Heartbreak hurts like a motherfucker and I just really want to say that the human spirit is a strong, resilient fucking piece of magic and in time, if you pick yourself up off the ground, things will get better and one day you’ll look back and think about that person you thought ruined love for you and the saddest thing about it will not be that you can’t stop loving them or being angry, but that when you think of them you feel almost nothing at all.
And if that doesn’t work, ply yourself with drugs and booze and stay away from the Internet because I don’t want to hear it anymore.
Angry, possibly over-medicated Linsey
(who, AT THE VERY LEAST, still believes in love)