I’m sure a lot of you make resolutions; I don’t. I do the opposite since I’m perpetually in a state of self-loathing and self-criticism that seems to run on a loop. So I want to mess up and not hate myself for it.
Sometimes the hardest person to forgive is yourself.
I’m never too proud to admit that I battle my own demons every day. I don’t always win–and that’s okay.
I’m just sick of the masses demanding eternal optimism and unwavering positivism–e.g., if I post on, say, Facebook, that I’m having a shitty day, I’ll immediately get three to four comments from people saying how negative I always seem to be. And then said people will make their own posts about how they “CAN’T STAND” seeing negative posts ALL OVER Facebook.
Guess who else can’t stand negativity?
Robots!
I’m human. I’m not afraid to admit that I’m human.
And, by the way, who gives a shit about my Facebook status?! This is what defines us and our background noise now?
Tsk, tsk, tsk.
I will apologize for my sparse presence during the holidays–the internet eluded me during our five-day Carnival Cruise to Cozumel (despite the fact that I paid $70) and I now have what’s termed “land-sickness.” The worst things to do when one has land sickness is to sit still, read, write, etc.
HA!
While my husband was relentlessly searching the cruise ship for me as the ball dropped on New Year’s Eve, to no avail, and ended up counting down the evening alone and rang in 2016 watching everyone around him hug and kiss, I was in the ladies’ room throwing my guts up before falling asleep on the toilet seat. I made my way back to our room by 1:30 A.M., covered in my own vomit.
I’m not telling you this to be funny.
I’m sad because I realized that I’m still just a dumb kid myself while out on this cruise. I’m sad because I’ve realized how truly different I am than the people and loved ones who surround me.
They like to go, go, go while I like to sit, sit, sit.
I tire easily.
I never used to be like this. I never used to be any of these things. But shit happens and wounds run deep. A doctor gives you the GARDASIL vaccine and it ruins your brain forever in conjunction with a job that leaves you with PTSD. Then you find yourself pregnant with a girl, getting married, moving and changing jobs and buying a house. All at 23 years old. You thwart panic attacks 24 hours a day. You worry about the baby that barely moves inside your stomach.
“You have so much to be happy about,” everyone tells you. You know this. How could they think that you don’t know this? But you can’t help the turmoil that is swirling inside your brain.
Sure, I can tell you all about the dolphin encounter I had with my children. I can tell you about the laughs and the fun times; but the “aha moment” that kept rearing its ugly head was one that screamed that deep down, I am sad. I am hopelessly, inconsolably, bottomless pit-like sad. And drinking myself into oblivion until I blacked out on a public toilet was no way to deal with it.
I’m the kind of person who will raise hell when I see a problem—I will fight for you to no end. Meaning when I see you self-destructing, I will speak up and speak up and speak up until something happens.
But it doesn’t mean that I’m not fighting back tears. It doesn’t mean that I don’t hurt when I see you hurting. It doesn’t mean that I’m positioning myself as somehow “better” than you or acting pious.
But the point is this: someone who has faced complete sadness and hopelessness cannot stand to see other people in this same state, because they know how awful it is. I am that person.
Soon I’ll be announcing our “winning themes” for the coming months for submissions when they reopen on January 31st.
I promise I’ll get to it.
It’s just that we got off the boat Saturday morning and I’m still walking sideways and about to barf any moment, my insides swaying like mad.
I will give you one hint: we are having another Women’s Writing Week, which has been decided by me. I truly hope to see more women submitting their writing; and without the self-deprecating e-mails to go with it. I mean, if you must, then you must. I’d rather see some men send me some self-deprecating e-mails. Then we’d be even.
Then I will pick six themes that have been either DMed or Tweeted or e-mailed to me and announce them in a couple of weeks. Or maybe this week. I have to give you guys time to prepare your work, too.
Peace and love,
Cheers!
Kelly Coody/ SLM
(send all submissions starting January 31st to kelly.fitzharris@gmail.com)
SICK LIT MAGAZINE 