So I’m reading a book. (Haha, I swear I have thought processes outside of books and TV shows) (cause there are movies too).
It’s called ‘Before I Go,’ by Colleen Oakley – it’s her debut novel and so far it’s a ripper.
“Daisy is 27-years-old and has only months to live. And, each day, she’s finding her way through her lists of what needs to be done…Her major worry is what her wonderful, charming husband, Jack, will do without her. It’s this fear that keeps her up at night, until she stumbles upon the obvious solution. She knows that he won’t take care of himself so Daisy has to do it for him: she has to find him another wife…As she searches with singular determination for the right woman, she begins to realise that her plan to ensure Jack’s happiness is much more complicated than she expected…Life-affirming, authentic, funny and heartbreakingly beautiful, Before I Go is all about love..”
I think I may possibly actually have a condition in which I actively search for movies, TV shows or books that will make me cry. ?? Why, you ask, why do you want to make yourself cry? Especially because you already cry so easily at mere every day activities? That is a good question, I answer, but I can’t put into words the way words have an effect on me. I like — nay, love — when something resonates so deep, the words that my veins are filled with are linked together. These little joinings of letters that understand me right down to my very bone.
So I’m reading it. I’ve already laughed quite a lot and cried quite a bit, and I’m only up to page 116.
“I nod, struck by the kindness in her eyes. Even though I search for it, pity is nowhere to be found, and it makes me like her even more.”
Here we are. The reason I hurriedly put the book down and picked up my laptop, as if I was going to forget the words that had run through my head, the memories that jumped up; the ones that had been peacefully waiting in the corners, waiting their turn, waiting to be remembered.
P I T Y.
I hate pity. I have endured enough pity for one lifetime and I know the pity has not stopped for the lifetime to come. I give as much as I get, though, and for that I am sorry.
It’s this awkward little sparkle in peoples’ eyes when you tell them of an unfortunate situation your family has found themselves in. It’s when my friends would admit to their battle with mental illness. It’s when I would be standing with mum, and she would be wearing a scarf on her head, and people would watch with their brows slightly furrowed and their mouth slightly sad. It’s when I shaved my head and people would ask, did you shave it for cancer? And I would answer, yes, and some would be game enough to ask why, so I’d tell them.
My mum passed.
It’s only hair.
Their eyes would go from a look of shock to pity to admiration in mere seconds. They would give this slight smile thinking they hadn’t shown it on their face.
Sorry guys, secret’s out. We can always spot the pity.
Feeling pity is normal. Feeling this slight, shameful, thank fuck it’s not me, is completely, utterly, boringly normal.
What I want to pick at is letting your pity shroud your curiosity, letting it shroud your interest in this person, letting it make you an awkward shell of the person you were had this person not told you that something shitty has happened in their life. My favourite people would be the ones that would ask me about her. Not what happened. Not when. But who she was as a person.
Second secret’s out!! Everyone has had something shitty happen in their life!!!
~Also stop the self pity for this very reason~
People are not defined by the sad, or the bad, or the shitty things that have happened, are happening or are soon to happen in their lives.
People are defined by their sheer determination to live life even through all the sad, bad and shitty.
Stop the pity. It’s shitty.
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