It's not often I get so thoroughly chewed out, especially by someone I'm close to. But that's where I found myself yesterday evening. I was sitting at my laptop, alone in the studio at the end of the day, when it happened and I was left wondering where the pit of my stomach had fallen to. Said chewing-out occurred over chat no less (which must truly be a sign of the times we live in). But let's rewind a moment, shall we?
The other night I was having a late-night discussion with a friend about some pretty personal kinda stuff, when it came time for me to spill out an opinion. Now, I'm going to say up front that everything I said had merit. The ideas were relevant and important. The way in which they were delivered, however, was not. In an impressive (and, quite frankly, rather disturbing) display of Total Jerkiness, I instantly became a Total Jerk. I have no excuses for this, really. I had determined the core ideas I wanted to say, sure, but they seemed to take on a life of their own once they reached the chat window (via my fingers via the brain, which may or may not be in proper working order). No one deserves to be ranted at like that. For whatever reason, I stopped talking to the person on the other end and started typing at them. As if each keystroke was a physical blow of some sort. I still haven't quite figured out why, but apparently I was going straight for the jugular. With such... Drive and such purpose. So fixated on going, with a total lack of thinking or observation. Like a drug. Surreal and terrible.
So as such things do, the conversation ended in an anti-climactic and emotionally-charged implosion.
And in the sleepless hours that followed, I immediately knew what I had done and that the damage had been made. But like I said - no excuses. None.
Back to sitting alone in the studio, in front of my laptop. Whisps of fresh snow were swimming around outside in the dark, and the temperature was right around Far Colder Than It Ever Should Be, Ever. How appropriate. I decided that I needed to do something, and I needed to put out the flames before the bridge was burned. The problem was that I had had waited too long and my pyrotechnics were far too thorough in the first place - the fires had long ago run their course, and all that was left at this point was embers and smoking remains.
And then I got what I deserved. After a couple of precise, unexpected (though they shouldn't have been), and rapid jabs, and before I figured out that I was the source of the damp red liquid that was starting to leak out from under my shirt, came the uppercut.
"To say it hurts is to say Nothing."
Now, there's a good sort of context that surrounds this kind of thing. Context that gives it a million times more weight than eight words, two capital letters and a period have any right to. And stuff like that I keep for a physical journal that I hide away in the corner of my room. So why even bother posting this at all, you ask? Perhaps so that my readership of one can appreciate it (mind you, on some occasions that figure has been known to temporarily double). Really, though, this is a way for me for sort it out in my brain, to inhale and keep it in and internalize it before I blow it out to the world. No one will read it, sure, but that's not what it's about. It creates the illusion that it's out of my hands, because I've tried my best to deal with it and figure it out before letting it go free to fly wherever it wants.
So no, there'll be no context or specifics. I know that this brand of insult could be interpreted one of a million ways, and only I happen to have the key that tells me which one fits. But that's for me and the person that dealt the blow.
Now, how would you respond to something like that? I mean, poetically, there's something in the way that Nothing is capitalized that makes the statement beautifully sharp, jagged, and poignant. But as far as I can tell, semantics and distractions aside, there's no elegant way to get around it and keep your hands clean. So here's your protip: Don't make enemies out of your friends. They're the ones that know how to attack your weak point for Massive Damage.
But through some twist I'm not even sure I understand, apparently there might be enough substance in the contorted, smoldering ruins of this bridge to build on again. I consider myself lucky, because I'm not so convinced that I deserve it.
So will this post bring the sweet cathartic release I've been craving, needing, for the last little while? No. Not even remotely. Something like that sticks with you. I'm not sure if there's any letting go of it, and even if you could, it'll most likely reach out grab a hold of you itself. So I've gotta deal with it. But that's the way these things go, right? And as much as I wish they would wither away and die, those stupid words I typed that one night will probably stick around and hold fast to the other person. I wish they wouldn't. I really wish they wouldn't. That notion feels worse than any Insult of the Year.
-Cril
Some things take so long
But how do I explain
When not too many people
Can see we're all the same
And because of all their tears
Their eyes can't hope to see
The beauty that surrounds them
Isn't it a pity
Isn't it a pity
Isn't is a shame
How we break each other's hearts
And cause each other pain
How we take each other's love
Without thinking anymore
Forgetting to give back
Isn't it a pity
George Harrison - Isn't it a Pity
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