On Friday, I said that “In a world that seems completely rotten with meanness, ridiculous bickering and all sorts of pain-causing nonsense, there will always be a person (or 13) who takes the time to give (love, things, time, an ear…) to others.” Then I shared a picture, and said, “I have grinning down to a science… a shining nearly-blinding witchy science.”
So… yesterday, someone sent me a message that started like this: “I am older than you and have lived more than you. I feel duty-bound to tell you…” The rest goes on to point out my “selfishness”, how I’m too young “and childless” to understand why my “smirking face insults people who know better.” The whole thing annoyed me. So much so that I almost replied to the person in question with a piece of my mind that would truly show what an insult looks like.
But I didn’t. Instead, I thought about a good friend of mine who lives with depression. When she is having one of her terrible days, she says the meanest things. Her uncanny coping mechanism has never pushed me away… I never take it personally… I know a lot of the meanness comes from her need to justify the horrid feelings that plague her days and nights. Most of the time, my friend and I diffuse the situation by discussing her feelings of severe sadness and my eternal elation in the most pragmatic of ways… Then we remind each other how good it was to be able to have those talks. And it truly is, my Wicked Luvs.
The idea of feeling sad and hopeless all the time is something I can barely understand. Just like my friend can hardly comprehend how I can continue smiling when I’m in pain every second of each day. Every now and again, my friend will say things like, “I don’t know why you don’t walk away. I push everyone away.” And I tell her, only half-jokingly, “I’m too full of myself to allow any kind of meanness to touch me. My
nearly nauseating sense of self-love, narcissism, and my armor of happily bared teeth helps me deal with anything this world can send my way.”
When things get really tough, some people brood and call other people names… I grin at myself in the mirror while blowing kisses at me. We all have our virtues and faults, right? Except me—I’m perfect *cough, cough, cough*. So… to ye, who called me selfish, you are quite right. If selfishness is defined as the art of loving me, myself and I more than I love anyone else alive, then I am selfish to the bone… and proud of my superpower.
If being miserable is your way of showing the world that you care, then by all means, be as miserable as your soul needs you to be. But don’t you dare expect others to act just like you (and yes, by “others” I mean “me”). Expecting everyone to dance life’s music with your steps would be pretty damn selfish of you. Live and let live, I say—cliché, but that doesn’t mean it’s untrue.
One more thing, I would never know how to love another person, or how to care about other people, if I didn’t adore myself the way I do. And because my selfishness comes sprinkled with a bit of wicked yum (okay, with a whole lot of wicked yum) here is me, myself, and I, “In the Mirror”:
first published on Instagram