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Thursday, May 8, 2014

Suck It Up, Buttercup

I’m holding a grudge and it’s getting in the way of my happiness.  And what pisses me off is that I know it’s wasted energy, and I know that it is keeping me in a stuck place and I know that no good will ever come of this shitty, catty anger I am hosting and I STILL can’t get it out of my head.  Or maybe it’s my heart.  It’s definitely in my gut.

I believe, more than anything, that people should be authentic.  There is NOTHING in this world that pisses me off more than fake people.  You can usually spot them a mile away.  They smile CONSTANTLY, compliment INCESSANTLY, and are generally choking the air out of the room with their phoniness.

And yet, sometimes I miss the signs.  I like to believe that all people are good until proven otherwise.  My husband, on the other hand, believes that no one is good until proven otherwise.  He has a solid core group of friends who have earned their place in his circle, whom he trusts, and whose company he thoroughly enjoys.  (That doesn’t mean that some of his friends aren’t assholes, in my book.  But guys have a much better view of the world, and sometimes the people you want to go drinking with are, in fact, assholes.)

I don’t like assholes.  I don’t think that they should be in my universe.  I want all the people in my circles of friends to be good, honest, authentic, genuine people.  They don’t have to have anything in common, except for those traits.  They can live in different places, like different things, be totally different.  They just can’t be assholes.

So, back to my bitter pill.  There is a fox in my hen house.  She came in as a seemingly genuine, authentic person but has since proven to be otherwise.  I thought she came from good stock.  Her family is incredible.  She had a good upbringing.  And yet, her roots have gotten shallower, and shallower, and shallower, as every year has passed.  Theoretically speaking, a swift wind should knock her right over like the tree in my yard.

And now I am stuck in mud.  I can’t avoid her because we have very overlapping circles.  And I suck at being phony.   I could forgive her for the thing that she did, but that requires me to rise above, and I just told you:  I am ankle deep in mud.   

So I keep chanting mantras.  Be a bigger person.  Rise above.  The only person you are hurting is yourself.  Vibrate at a higher level.  Don’t fall into the trap.  Blah, blah, blah.  I had hoped that the constantly, nearly OCD-like repetition of these things would release me from my hate space.  But, the tricks aren’t working.  I don’t feel an ounce better.  I don’t feel lighter, freer, or better.  I am just fucking pissed.

I’m not interested in explaining why I am angry.   I don’t feel like articulating the infraction that this person did, the proverbial straw that broke this camel’s back.  I don’t want to give any more food to this noxious weed.   I get fired up about it, and then I get mad that I get fired up. 

So, what’s a modern girl to do?  I “unfollowed” her on Facebook.  I took her out of my notifications.  I paused over the “unfriend” and block buttons but didn’t pull the trigger.  I can’t explain why.  It’s probably the healthiest option, but there is that piece of me that needs to keep tabs on her – to not turn my back on her, lest she stab me again.

I’m a Christian, so where’s my Christianity?  I’m supposed to turn the other cheek so she can slap me again, or something like that.  I’m supposed to give more than I have already given.  I am supposed to stop swirling in negativity, lest all I see is negativity in all of the beautiful things in my life.  The good people in my life.  The honest, authentic, wonderful people in my life.  Of which there are 99.9999999% more than this one, tiny, broken piece.

I wish someone could give me a diagnosis.  Assess my symptoms and say, “You have about 10 more days of this virus and then it will run its course.”  I don’t want to be a chronic sufferer.  I don’t want to be bitching about this for another day, or week, or minute.  I want to be healed.  I want to be happy.  For the both of us. 

Usually, when I write things out, I see the logical conclusion.  I find the answer to the problem.  In this case, I know all the answers.  I’ve taken all, or most of the pills.  Maybe I washed them down with insincerity, and that’s the difference.  Maybe I felt that I was the victim and I have been waiting to be validated.  To be surrounded by clucking, nodding sympathizers.   But, what would that accomplish?  Who would it serve?  Or wouldn’t it be more likely that it would keep me stuck in this place?  Allowing me to wallow in self-pity?  That’s no prescription for healing.

I learned the other day that the lotus flower grows in muddy water.  That it pushes past weeds, fish, insects and murk to bloom.  It is stronger because of its circumstances.  It shines its beautiful light in a dark place.    It’s time to use the mud I am standing in for something good; to see this moment as an opportunity for growth.  Or maybe just to make a face mask.  Either way – I’m not sinking any more.

So, as the saying goes, it’s time to “Suck it up, Buttercup.”  It’s time to make a swift exit from the pity party I have been attending, and head home.  I am the designated driver – no one else can take responsibility for my emotions.  It sucks, it hurts and it probably won’t be the last time someone disappoints me. 

The truth will set you free.  But first, it will piss you off.

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