Do you ever wake up to such a tidal wave of self-loathing you can hardly open your eyes? You lay in the half-light listening to the first plaintive trills of the birds on their drooping twigs and think of every stupid thing you’ve said or done, every hyperbolic joke you took too far, every inappropriate hug you offered, or winsome smile that was not returned. You can taste the hot-watery shock of being tolerated by the one you cared for, being discarded by the one you loved. You remember the saltwater taffy made of salt that you swallowed out of courtesy. The look exchanged between two people you thought were your friends. The time your name was excluded blatantly, aggressively, from a list it should have been on. How you puzzled, thinking, I am here, I am loyal, and snapped to the horror that your loyalty was undesirable, that loving and being loved are not the same thing. You ride the current of bile to a morning when your friend, your casual smiling buddy, screamed, Stay away from me! and you wake to the sound of it twenty years later and think, I will stay away, I want to stay away and stay here and stay buried under the covers where no one has to wish I were not around.
Photograph by Mary Ellen Mark
Ugh, every single one of those things. Right now, a couple of them in particular. Also, Don and Melanie, wow.
That column of bones down the center of his chest breaks my heart a little. He’s so young.
They are SO young I confess I didn’t even recognize them.
I didn’t recognize them at first either, Mary Lynne. Melanie looks like she’s about 12. Wow. How beautiful they are.
Didn’t any of you read I’M WITH THE BAND, the story of Pamela DeBarres, groupie extraodinare? Pam was with Donnie, who dumped her for Melanie. Don and Melanie got together when she was fourteen and he was twenty-two. You can call that a crime, but I’d bet Melanie didn’t think so.
Fourteen? Sheesh. I never heard that story!
Yes, of course. I try to sleep more, screw more, eat more, and drink more (martinis) when this hits me. It helps, and I’m lucky that I snap out of it. I know others aren’t so lucky, and my compassion for them is huge.
Screw more! Aha, the cure for whatever ails you. And if that doesn’t work, there’s always vodka. I like the way you think, J.
with shanna on the pic…wow. she looks like such a little girl.
this post reads like a statue carved of marble.
“every hyperbolic joke you took too far,”
“The time your name was excluded blatantly, aggressively,”
“snapped to the horror that your loyalty was undesirable,”
like a set of daggers. pitch perfect.
(my self loathing usually shows up at night, when i’m trying to close my eyes and cant)
I wonder if everyone has a vulnerable hour of her own, tailor made to fuck with her the most. Yours keeps you awake, mine wakes me up, Teri’s working a string of hours in the middle of the night.
As my mom says, it’s the human condition and no one makes it out alive.
XO
Wow. You are definitely “preaching to the choir” here. Couldn’t possibly have said it nearly as well myself. Those are the times when I lie on the couch and bury my head under a pillow because I don’t even feel worthy of having my own home see me. So far, the feelings pass or are buried under daily life.
Yeah, I hear you. Some days even the blanket feels too heavy to move. The only solution is to get out of bed and on with the day like you’re not ashamed to walk around behind your own face.
Ehrm, by ‘your face’ I mean of course ‘my face’, etc.
One more misspeak to add to the tally.
Averil, my sweet Averil, yours is a beautiful, gifted and giving soul. I come here every day because I know it will always be worth my while. It is my privilege to be your friend–for I do believe we are friends, though we have never met–and knowing you has enriched my days.
Oh Tetman, how did I ever do without you?
Yes. Dear god yes. And in this last week alone, I have woken at odd hours, too often, worried sick about something I said or didn’t say, certain each of them could be my demise. This morning I felt fine. I got up at 3 a.m., but at peace.
Why do we do that to ourselves? Shouldn’t we, at some point, say ‘fuck off’ and mean it?
Where did I read this today? “just say fuck it and move on.”
Wouldn’t that world be fab?
Didn’t you write that on my blog? “Do your best and move the fuck on.”
Yes! It was at Indy’s blog! Thanks for pointing that out — the jet lag is killing me.
I often wonder if there are people who are just not meant to be loved. Some sort of retribution for an unknown sin. I’ve offered far too many unwanted hugs and smiles. You’d think after forty years I’d get it, but I fall into the same trap every time. It makes me feel so stupid.
And another thing: I’d like to hunt down the liar that said reciprocation is the key to connecting and making relationships, and bob him in the eye. (No, this is not my normal response to the world. If it was, at least I would know why people don’t like me.)
I don’t think there are people who aren’t meant to be loved. I know, for me, it’s an issue of picking people who don’t want to love me and drenching them in my adoration. (Not men. I’m great at avoiding men who don’t want to love me, and great at being with men who do. I only do it with women, platonically.) Right now I’m looking hard at not continuing to make those choices. Lifelong work-in-progress.
I love everyone too much–men especially because they take it with more aplomb.
Reciprocation is sometimes the key, Deb. It’s the key with me. Love me, I love you back, period. Loyal as a fucking spaniel, until swatted with a newspaper. And sometimes even then. . . .
You’re completely right. It’s about making the right choices. I’m in the middle of some research about Finland and happiness (I’m living here). The culture is different, and I find I’m getting along just fine. I’m very surprised and have decided to write about it.
A fun tidbit I came upon: Finnish mythology is based on the creation being as a female entity.
What do they call her?
Ilmatar, which refers to an air goddess, or Luonnotar, which refers to nature. Mother Nature, Mother Earth perhaps?
Finnish names are lovely, I like the way they look on the page.
Yep, pretty much all of those things, and many more of my own. But life marches on (and usually it marches on me).
Yes it does. Do try to avoid the big boots, Paul.
Sometimes I wake up with too much sadness and regret. Then my husband hands me a cup of coffee, I walk my dog, turn on my computer and get to work. I tell myself feelings are facts, I have much to be grateful for and a ton of work left to do. Work worth doing. I act first and let the feelings follow. It’s the only way I know to overcome the sorrow.
I don’t have a dog, but a walk sounds lovely now that you mention it. Off I go.
Thanks, CJ.
I wish I could figure out why my psyche insists on putting me into this rat maze of regret (for me it is at night, before sleep). Around and around I go, reliving all the low points and the errors that I, being only human and with a big mouth and a quick tongue, have committed. When are we allowed to forgive ourselves? Is there a pill for that?
Ambien. Forgiveness in a bottle, or at least a good night’s sleep.
I’ve been in that sort of place for far too long, sometimes pretending that I’m not, other times making it too painfully clear to those who read my blog and the stupid comments I leave. I’ve been trying a little bit harder the past few days to pretend I’m not.
Your comments are never stupid, they are thoughtful and honest and that is why we love you.
Yes…usually at night and it keeps me awake. I’ve decided I’m going to write at night since I may be up anyway.
I write at night too, which is odd for me because I get up at dawn and have always been pretty early to bed as well. But if I have a late cup of coffee I can go for a while.
Oh Averil, what did they do to you and who is that Don Johnson lookalike in the shot?? Don’t let them get you down, it’s over, you’re the writer remember, the one who has run away to the place with big wet trees. You’re the survivor, and you are well loved. xxcat
That’s right. I’m in my happy place for crying out loud. Why the early morning sweats?
XO
ps how did you know ‘trill’ is one of my favourite words
Whew. Yes. You aren’t alone and those feelings, while real, aren’t valid or true.
Fight hard,break through with screams of triumph, fly away on those wings of pure awesome everyone else knows you have, ’cause we can see them clear as daylight and they look good on you.
I’ll be over here gnawing off my own leg in a corner . . . don’t mind me . . .
“…on those wings of pure awesome” Yes, yes, yes!
Sarah said it perfectly. As for me, I wake up full of optimism and hope almost every day. I think it has to do with a poor memory.
But sometime in the afternoon the wheels come off. I think if I could move to a country that has midday siestas, I could forego the self-loathing indefinitely.
Sarah, scootch over. I’ve brought the wine.
See there? Everyone has her own Dire Hour, when confidence turns to mockery and we end up gnawing off our own legs in a corner. I say you grab yourself a power nap in the afternoon, Lyra, and see if it will invoke the amnesia.
This sounds like a case of Impostor Syndrome to me, or at least a variation of it. One part of your mind starts slinging mud at the rest of you upon achieving something wonderful. It’s a trap; don’t fall for it. Or maybe it’s just a way of seeking equilibrium, ballast when you’re flying high. Doesn’t seem the most effective way to do it, though. Whenever I get something good, I give something in charity. Good works or cash, doesn’t matter. Find a positive way to be humble; smack-talking yourself is just ego, twisted, and doesn’t do anybody any good.
I remember that taffy and those girls. I know its probably weird and warped and wrong, but you’re on my list. And once you’re on my list, you’re never off. So there.
Those girls, those rotten girls. I got your taffy, bitches. Right here.
Yes, only I don’t write about it as well as you.
You’re a poet, writing well is your schtick.
Um, yes. I frequently experience that, and much more frequently than only upon waking.
Yes. And then I take my pill. Thank the sweet baby jesus for pharmaceuticals.
I’m hoping the time and good company has brought you some relief from these feelings.
Oh I know them too. I’ve been buried under work and editing, but what you posted hurts to read, the memories, however deep they are, always prod up like ribs.