Love and Self-Loathing

Every single one of my friends is married or in a relationship that is headed for marriage. I am the only truly single person at most gatherings. And even if there are other single people around, they’re usually wide-eyed, optimistic singles in their 20s, or 40-something visions of what I’m afraid I’ll become a decade from now.

My camel’s back was recently broken by the tiniest, most predictable of straws… But I should back up a bit.

It’s been a rough couple of weeks. Besides my current romantic dry spell, there has been some turnover at my workplace. In the course of three days, two of my favorite co-workers resigned. Because of their resignation, and in light of the current economic troubles (troubles that have caused us to go without raises for a second year in a row), many of their duties will be — at least temporarily — divided up among other employees. The thing that made these individuals so great was that they had the shittiest jobs imaginable but still maintained an infectiously positive attitude in the office. So now our cheerleaders will be gone, and the ridiculous amounts of work they did will be divided among those of us who relied on them to help us make it through our sometimes-bleak days.

In addition to this, the air conditioning systems in both my car and my house broke. The one in the house was covered by a home warranty, but it still cost a bit to get it fixed, and in order for the system to really work well, I should replace it — it is, after all, nearly as old as me. And that’s several grand I don’t have sitting around right now. As for the air conditioner in my car — that’s going to stay broken for a while. I know I won’t be able to afford to fix that. Plus, if there’s a tiny glimmer of hope in that situation, it’s that my gas mileage has shown slight improvement.

Also, yesterday morning brought the news that a young man I know has been diagnosed with lymphoma. He’s 20, maybe 21 — I think his prognosis is good. However, he’s in for a long and painful fight.

I have also been under the weather lately, emotionally and physically. Allergies have mutated into a nasty head cold, and the stay-cation I took last week left me feeling not refreshed, but acutely aware of just how solitary my life is. I mean, seriously, I spent the better part of a week at home, alone, trying to keep myself busy with projects — such as the thus-far-successful lawn care business I started to make up for the raise I won’t be getting this year — but ultimately, failing.

That brings us to this afternoon.

As I walked up my steps, I saw an envelope in my mailbox. It was from two very dear friends who spent last week in Vegas.

“Oh, you’re going to come back married,” I teased. They played it off.

In the envelope was an announcement of their marriage, along with a photo of them kissing, as husband and wife.

Logically speaking, this was no surprise at all. I had actually called it weeks ago. And, I’ll be honest, I’m very happy for them. I’m happy that they have taken the ultimate step and transformed their loving relationship into a full-fledged marriage, complete with tax benefits and everything.

And then, as I’m reading their announcement, an all-too-familiar feeling works its way up to my brain, by way of my gut.

It’s my sense of self-loathing. It’s always been there. In the best times, it was small and easily brushed aside. In the weakest and worst of times, it grows into an enveloping shroud of darkness.

“They have something you’ll never have,” it says. “You’ll never be happy.”

I try to stifle it, but all the other things on my mind weaken my defenses.

“You’re going to be alone,” it says. “You’re worthless and ugly and stupid, and you’re going to be alone forever.”

So I went outside to mow the lawn. I thought I’d sweat it out. It was still there after my own lawn was finished, so I did another. And then two more after that.

And then I found myself back at home, putting away my mowing equipment in the dark, the voice of my self-loathing still reciting its defeatist mantras in my mind.

So here I am, trying to silence the self-loathing by writing about what triggered it — the announcement of a wedding.

Usually, I hear about an engagement, then I receive a wedding invitation, and then there’s a period of emotional adjustment before the ceremony that allows me to be happy for the couple, even if I don’t make it to the actual ceremony because of my fear that the cloud of self-loathing will be given free reign via an open bar. The weddings themselves don’t upset me, but everything that weddings and marriage represent provide great fodder for my sense of self-loathing.

Logically, I knew this was going to happen. I knew these two were going to get married. I knew it before they did (really, I did.) Emotionally, though, it blindsided me like a freight train on a baseball diamond — it was out of left field and there weren’t even any tracks nearby to warn me of the possibility of a collision.

I tried talking to a friend about it. She said, “it’s not about you, and don’t you dare tell [the bride] that you’re sad that they got married.”

She’s right. It isn’t about me. But she’s also wrong — I’m not upset because they got married. I’m upset because I was caught off-guard by my own emotional response to learning of their marriage, which came on top of a lot of other emotionally-taxing things.

So, if you’re the happy couple and you’re reading this (as I know you sometimes do) you know who you are. I’m very happy for you, and I wish you nothing but love, joy, and happiness for the rest of your lives and beyond, and I love you both.

As for me, I’m hoping to exorcise the demon of self-loathing that, in an emotionally vulnerable time, has taken off its shoes and is trying to settle in.