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Friday, April 26, 2013

Pocket Full of Sunshine...

Sometimes people simply fascinate me.  The good and the bad.  But, honestly it's the poops-in-the-pants people that are the most intriguing.  I don't know why, though.  I guess it's because I look at life as just...life.  It happens.  Good and bad.  It is up to us as to how we intend to deal or not deal with the life we have, the cards we've been dealt, and people and circumstances that are a part of us whether we like it or not.  Twice today, I have been seated by women that look at the world as a place that everyone but them, have taken a huge dump on.  Life is shit.  Life is shit...because everyone else shits on it.  No, ladies, you're shitting on your own life.
My poo-poo platter is over flowing onto side dishes, soup bowls, bread plates, and even into my coffee cup.  Gross.  But, guess what I do?  Not what these women do.  If I did what these women did, I would be in such a sick place in my life and close to being on my death bed just like one of them is.  One of the ladies that I've been listening to is ill.  She's not well at all and my heart goes out to her...until she speaks.  What she has is sucking the life out of her...but so is her behavior.  Everything that she has talked about for the past 2 hours has been about how she plans to "tear a new one into so-and-so" and  she's going to "sue this person and that person" and "how dare they treat me like this" and I could keep going but I don't want to catch what she has, nor do I want you to.



The irony?  As soon as this woman's friend left, she turned around to face me while I was typing about her as if she sensed it, she reached out her hand to introduce herself, and she took a seat at my table.  Umm..did this actually happen?  It did.  It did happen.  So, the conversation she had been having with her friend started up with me.  While I bitch about people's poor behaviors, I do try to take an opportunity like I had with this one and turn the tables on her.  She went on and on about her illness, her "horrible" ex-husband, the judge that handled her case (10 years ago, mind you), and how there's a conspiracy where people are out to get her and ruin her life.

The one question I asked to get her to stop talking for even a second:  "Is there anything you're happy about?"
"Of course!! I'm happy to be alive!!" but this was answered with such cynicism, it was as if she wasn't really happy to be alive.
I tried again:  "I get that you're happy to be alive, isn't everyone?  But WHY are you happy to be alive?  What brings you joy everyday?  What makes you smile?  What brings you butterflies each day?"
(Obviously, I was trying to get this lady to dig deep inside herself and stop pointing her sick finger at everyone else)
This question made her breakdown crying.  I felt bad for only a second.  She proceeded to tell me the things that made her truly happy and even though she cried while telling me, she was also smiling.  First time I'd seen this woman smile since she sat down.  I pointed out that she should be able to feel her own energy shift in a happier "feel-better" place when she focuses on that stuff rather than all the other bullshit.  That's all that it is.  Bullshit.

Sorry.  I know she has a rough go of it and times are tough for her and in her opinion, she needs to get revenge on any and all people that have fucked her over and they ALL have it coming.  Really?  Do they?  She's sick.  Not even knowing this lady, I felt like I was her fucking therapist of the obvious.  Did she really think her time was best spent going after her ex, the old judge, the doctors, her neighbors, and anyone else who's done her wrong??  How about spend quality time with her kids?  That sounds better.  How about doing anything that makes her happy and brings GOOD excitement in her life?  She was intrigued by me because she saw I was writing a book.  She was too!  Well...not really.  She has a title.  And...it's going to be non-fiction based on her life.
I did the one thing you don't do to writers...I gave my opinion.  I know better, but...I know better.  I told her the beauty of writing a book that is Fiction is you can take your own personal life experiences and put them into a story and give them to a character that is NOT YOU so you don't have to relive your own piece of crap life.  That's how you write a great story.  Take real life situations and twist it into someone else's life and make it about them and not you.  It is also a release.
I asked, "Do you journal?"
"Well, of course I do."
"Do you burn it later?"
"No. Why would I do that?"
"If what you're writing about is awful shit that isn't something you want to relive by going back and reading it a week from now, a month from now, or even a year from now...burn the damn thing.  Let it go!"

Here's the thing...I am not a therapist.  I do not walk around thinking my life is perfect, because I know it's not.  And when it comes to this kind of crap, I am not a know-it-all.  However, I REFUSE to let go of who I am which is the person who will forever look at the bright side of everything regardless of the current situation.  That being said, I will also use the healthy therapy of losing my shit and breaking down crying hard when it is very necessary (and very private).  And when I'm done doing that...I'm done.  Back to life.  Do I want revenge on people that have fucked me over?  Sometimes.  But do I want to waste even parts of my life doing that?  Fuck, no.  I just want to LIVE my life.  I don't like to dump my shit on others and try to make them as miserable as I might be in that moment like that woman did.  It was weird.  Even faking it is healthier and can even feel better!  So, my hopes for that woman is that maybe she heard me.  Just a little.  However, hearing how the ugliness and hateful words escaped her mouth...she is doomed.  She will not get healthy.  She will lose her battles with all these "evil" people.  And most important, the things that made her cry because they brought her so much joy will be forgotten and she will miss out on LIFE.
Whatever shit we're going through in our own private little lives, we should never let it consume us or define us.
Fucking fake it if you have to!  It's so much better to be around that than being around a true Debbie-Downer.  I mean...she was a professional of unhappiness, bitterness, hatefulness, and misery.

She probably needed a hug...but I didn't want to be further exposed and end up catching her "Hate".  

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