Or “myself” as the case may be.
I have regularly been accused of feeling sorry for myself. It seems that any time you speak of a negative experience, some idiot who believes that the only way forward is light and good fairies, decides to rain on your picnic. Guess what guys? Some experiences are negative. Deal with this issue already! I’m sick of defending myself for having a bad day. Besides… while I do feel sorry for myself on occasion, it is not my default position.
There is a process I go through when something bad happens. Take today for example. I found out that some pain and difficulty breathing that I have been having is because of a partially dislocated rib. I dislocate everything else – my ribs were the last set of joints to join the party. In a way, I feel like this is a milestone of sorts, and not the good kind. Plenty of my EDS friends online dislocate theirs, and I have always been thankful that it hasn’t happened to me yet. I say “yet” because EDS is a degenerative condition – you get worse over time. Thus, it stands to reason, that when you are already as bad as I am in your mid-thirties it may happen, and while I was hoping to never see the day my ribs started to dislocate, I was also preparing for it.
Aim for the best and prepare for the worst is my motto.
Anyway, so my process is this – I take some time to feel sorry for myself and indulge in ice-cream and chocolate and watching hot girls kick arse on television. Sometimes this time lasts for a few hours, and sometimes it lasts for a day or two. Always afterward however, I stand up (figuratively speaking if need be), brush myself off of the pity party, and say “right, let’s get on with things now”. I grieve, and I recover.
So today, I am indulging in ice-cream and chocolate and hot girls kicking arse. Tomorrow, or even tonight, I will brush myself off and get going again.
Quite often, it is during this pity party that I blog, and idiots feel the need to tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself.
By acknowledging the bad, and dealing with it, I am moving forward. I do not wish to end up like people we have known in the past – the woman who on hearing she had breast cancer, decided she was going to die and stopped participating in life at all. The man with a terminal illness who stood up at his own daughters engagement party and made a speech – about his death. *shudder*. I much prefer to laugh and joke and have fun, and I am blessed with the capability to do so. All that merriment is hard to do however, if there are demons lurking underneath. So as soon as I have some demons, I spend some time with them, get to know them, and then bash the little fuckers on the head before getting on with my life.
So why do I love my friends so much? Because they know me. They know that I don’t like to feel sorry for myself at all and that I would much rather laugh. They know that when I post on Facebook the latest about my health (my ribs dislocating and this being the last set of joints I have left to do so), they don’t offer condolences or pity. No no no. They say things like:
I think this calls for some sort of celebration.
Only partially? Its not like you to do things half assed. I’m shocked.
Oh well. You are now part of the ‘my ribs pop out’ group. Its very exclusive!
I LOVE MY FRIENDS!!!
So, the next time someone has a vent online, don’t automatically assume that this is their default position in life. Maybe they’re just exorcising some demons. Look for the attitude that lies beneath the words. Look at the bigger picture. Do they blog their complaints every day, or are their complaints sporadic (and therefore, normal)?
Have I mentioned that I love my friends? They are still making me giggle!!!
(Note: This is based on the “normal” me. There is also the me that has depression from time and time, and I can get into some funks with that. That is a different kettle of fish however. Depression isn’t about attitude, though I admit, it can seem like it to the uneducated observer, and I get why people get confused.)