So I’m reading this book by an author I normally like and it’s stressing me out. Second one by her in a row, actually. (And, no, I will not admit who it is cuz it’s romance stuff and I’m embarrassed to be reading it in the first place!)
Anyhow… In the book, this woman has a shitty childhood in that totally self indulgent sort of way. Her family is great, lots of love, no abuse, but she’s all embarrassed by what her dad does for a living, even though they make mad cash doing it and she’s not popular and she has no friends, blah blah, she’s an art geek, blah blah.
So she goes away to college, gets married, hubby cheats on her, she gets divorced and, ten years after she left, she’s back in her little hometown and still letting her high school years affect her in ridiculous ways.
I mean, seriously, she’s talking more about her horrible high school years than anything else.
She’s all grown up. All the kids she went to school with are also grown up and are being very kind to her — despite the fact that she was an unfriendly little shit in high school who published mean comic strips about them and is just as cuntish now that she’s a grown up.
It’s whine, whine, whine about how awful it was to be her growing up.
I’m ready to toss the book in the toilet, only I have this issue with not finishing books and so I have to finish it or I’d end up losing my mind, digging in the toilet for it, whatever. I can’t not finish a book.
But, back to the bitching…
What the fuck is wrong with this woman?
I “get” that it’s a story. But, seriously, the author herself has got to be fucking whacked to even be writing this shit.
It’s whine whine whine whine whine about something that happened a decade ago and should, really, be put the fuck away.
I find myself yelling at the book.
“Grow UP, lady. Gods, just fucking get OVER it.”
Is that mean of me? Should I be more understanding?
Pffffttttt.
If high school issues are all you have to bitch about? Consider yourself lucky.
And, seriously? If the perceptions of other people are that fucking important, so important that they’re ruining your life, even though those perceptions aren’t even valid or held anymore? It’s your own issue. Seriously. Your. Issue.
I think, perhaps, I am just too well adjusted.
I am to sane.
Is there such a thing?
It’s not just the book that makes me think this. It’s watching everyone around me. It’s whine and drama and issues and problems and emotional freak outs and depression and everyone is wallowing in the past and letting it make them who they are now.
Fuck the past.
Move on. LIVE your damned life. MAKE your life the way YOU want it to be. You’re not in highschool any more. Get new friends and shut the fuck up.
Or whatevs.
I do not understand this wallowing. I just don’t.
I’m a happy woman. I have a good life. I have a job I mostly love, even when it gets to be boring, tedious or stressful. I have a man who is far from perfect and who makes me want to bash him with a frying pan often, but whom I also love to the depths of my being. I have pets and a son and the best friends I’ve ever had in my life, friends who get me, who I can count on, who are there, 100% there and not going to stab me in the back tomorrow. I am comfortable with who I am, with what I do, with my sexuality and my morals and the way I live my life.
I have these things because I made my life the way I wanted it to be, because I made choices to get me where I am, because I didn’t wallow in the bullshit.
And, believe me, I have my share of bullshit. Two divorces are just the start. I have body image issues and self confidence issues and all the rest of the shit normal folks have. But wallowing? Ridiculous.
Every day I look at myself and my life and make the choice to live how I want to, to be who I am, to not let anyone else rule my happiness, to make the changes I need to make to be happy and fulfilled. Or to shut up and accept what I cannot change.
Shut. Up. And. Accept. What. I. Cannot. Change.
I cannot change my past, I can only create my future and live, fully, in my present.
Liberating, if you ask me.
The other day on Formspring – which is STILL the stupidest thing EVER — someone asked “How did you become so comfortable with who you are?” and this is how.
I stopped living for anyone else, took a break from just about everything but the necessary things in life — work, kid — and gave myself some time. I figured out who I am and what I want and need and then, when I felt good about ME, I took the chance on making a life with someone else.
But the core of who I am and my comfort with myself and my ability not to wallow comes from knowing, deep down, that I am okay. That I can stand alone. That nothing that happened in my past has to define who I am now. It made me who I am now, gave me the depth and experience I have, but it does not define me. I define me, what I do now defines me.
And anyone from my past who disagrees? Can suck it.
Anyone from my present who doesn’t like me as I am…
Well, they don’t have to. I’m okay with not being liked by everyone. Hell, being universally liked is boooooring.
I think that is all for now. Time to wake up the main man, eat some dinner and flop with my HORRIBLE book full of whining wallowing crap.
Thank gods I’m more than half done…
And the coffee will be good. Donut Shop blend for my Keurig.
~peace
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I drink a lot of coffee, ride a motorcycle, have an 18 year old son and a decade long relationship that began in a chat room.
No, that’s not mean of you. This?
“And, seriously? If the perceptions of other people are that fucking important, so important that they’re ruining your life, even though those perceptions aren’t even valid or held anymore? It’s your own issue. Seriously. Your. Issue.”
I want to hug you for saying that because it seems people taking accountability for anything anymore happens to few and far between. It’s always the fault of someone or something but never the person. I have trouble with all the blame game that goes on because I never want to point a finger when I have an issue and say it’s this person’s fault or that person’s fault. I have friends that get annoyed with that and say that I’m just a stronger person than most for being able to say, “Think what you want, I don’t give a fuck.” And truly, I don’t. I couldn’t care less what most people think of me, my clothes, the way I do things, the things I like, etc. It’s my life and I’ll live it the way I want to. I’m the one who has to be happy with it, ya know? So I get so annoyed at seeing fingers pointed in every direction all the time but rarely do you see someone say, “Hey, I’m trying too hard to live up to the standards of someone else and not just trying to do what’s best for me. My bad, I need to fix it.”
And I’m sorry for going off on a rant in your comments, lol. I could take more lines and paragraphs out of this post and tell you why I agree with them and think they’re awesome views to have but… I’ve hijacked this enough so I’ll stick with this. Fantastic post, very well said and you ma’am, fucking rock. :D
Rant away! I love not being the only one. :)
Awesome rant, hahah. I’m really happy for both of you that you can honestly say “Fuck off, world, I’m me and that rocks.”
I do want to mention something, as a student studying Abnormal Psychology and therapy. There’s a term for the kind of person who usually ends up whining the way you describe: they’re often called “Ontologically Insecure,” which basically means that, because of the way their brains are wired, they have an unstable sense of self. Experiences growing up can magnify it, but it’s gotta be there at least a bit from the get-go.
But because of this, the worst cases literally can’t ignore what other people say. Severe cases describe it as someone’s words “invading” their sense of self. Mild cases are pretty damn common, too. Hell, I’ve got a mild level of it myself; I have to be conscious of it EVERY DAY, and fight it, so that I can, like you, say “Fuck off, world!”
And that’s where you are totally, completely right. Even the worst cases CAN get to the point where they can stand on their own. They just have to work much, much harder at it. Kind of like a person who has every genetic predisposition to obesity in the books who was fed only fattening foods as a child has to work much harder to stay “thin” than a person with an efficient metabolism who’s always eaten well. They can do it, it’s just hard.
And you know what? Boo fuckin hoo. Life is hard. We can suck it up and work through it. Having a genetic predisposition to something that you can prevent or deal with or a condition you can manage with work should never stop you. (re: asthmatic olympians!) And such shit should never take up that much of a romance novel, damn it! :P
Sorry for ranting a bit. I agree with you, honest. I just figured it’d be interesting to comment on where that annoying stuff comes from.