Hurt:

How Learned Helplessness Enables You to Become a Perpetual Victim I feel hurt. There's not really any good reason for it. My week's been decent. I finally handed in the evil paper that was due a week ago; I got a very cool last second interview with some Mormon missionaries for another paper due this week; I've finished reading the book for a book report due today; I went out to see Christmas lights with Amy and Becky last night and my life-long dream of actually walking among the lights along 14th street was finally fulfilled because the gate was open; my mom made the best turkey pot pie ever last night; I had fun washing dishes while listening to my dad try to instruct Melanie and Chasey on how to play together harmoniously; and Melanie and I had fun mocking the latest fashion trends from Paris and beating each other up while listening to Flogging Molly. My weekend really wasn't bad either. I finished my paper; voted; briefly ran into Nick, Lauren & Nathan, Mark & Karen, and Charis, none of whom I've seen in a while; I went to my school Christmas banquet with my friends, then we hung out at Moxie's afterwards; I blissfully slept in on Monday. But little papercuts that didn't bother me at the time feel like they've become infected or something. I was kind of surprised when I wasn't all that wounded after getting blown off by my "date" for the banquet I payed $20/ticket a month in advance for. I just decided it was my friend's loss. I was more just irritated that I'd also forgotten about the banquet so I'd missed out on all the hours of girly interaction getting ready for it with my friends. And, being someone with a "slow-to-warm-up" temperament, arriving almost 2 hours late in the company of my mother (who is very cool and kindly offered to come w/ me in my friend's stead so I'd have a ride down there) with no prep time kinda threw me off for the rest of the night. It was fun and I'm sure I looked like I was having fun but it didn't feel fun because I felt out of place, like I was still missing something. Then on Monday one of my best friends called to cancel a hang-out we'd planned for that day. Again, I was ok. I knew it wasn't personal, she was just tired from lack of sleep. But it stings today. It's partly just a generalized reaction to an old injury, I suppose. From early in my childhood to this day, one of my greatest fears has been rejection. Specifically, making a clear, hard effort to offer my friendship to someone else and then having that person ignore it or fail to reciprocate bites deeply. I've never admitted it, but I actually flinch inside every time one of my siblings plays this (predictably) ridiculous song by Weird Al that goes, "Pizza Party at your house: I stopped, just to check it out. 32 larges with extra cheese, what a shame no one came." It's a parody, for crying out loud! You can't take something seriously that has an end verse beginning with: "Oh, why'd I have to go and get myself de-capitated?"! But I guess it just comes too close to the truth for me. I actually have many memories of similar situations happening to me (that is, I have experience in planning parties and inviting 20+ people and having none of them show up, not in getting decapitated). Maybe I'm really just mad. Sigmund Freud believed that depression is really just hurt transformed into anger towards the self. This theory has not found much imperical support through research but it seems to fit in my case. Last night I was reading The Way of the Pilgrim, which is the first-person account of a Russian pilgrim on his travels as he seeks to learn how to pray without ceasing. It is written in a soft, laid-back, descriptive story-telling style somewhat similar to C. S. Lewis' The Narnian Chronicles or J. R. R. Tolkien's The Hobbit. Not extremely fast-paced or emotional material. Yet it made me sooooo irritated. I wanted to stomp on the Pilgrim, but I don't think I'd find it all that satisfying because he's the kind of meekly heroic character that would just lie there and take it quietly, then pray for me and go on limping joyfully down the road with his blasted Bible, Philokalia, and bread crusts. How the duece does someone live for decades on a diet that consists of nothing other than stale bread crusts and water while traveling hundreds of miles on foot wearing only dirty rags year-round in Siberia?! And why is everyone he meets either entirely amiable and good or entirely selfish and evil? Why the deuce don't they or the annoyingly humble Pilgrim ever stumble in their journeys toward deification/sanctification or towards attaining unceasing interior prayer of the heart? And why the deuce am I taking 4 more 300 and 400 level courses next semester when I already feel spiritually dead, socially isolated, artistically empty, mentally exhausted, physically deteriorated, financially drained, and psychologically harrassed from doing the same this semester, darn it? I know that I need to learn how to pray without ceasing in order to remain in Christ's presence but I am never going to learn how to pray without ceasing without a spiritual leader and without considerable time to develop the habit and I have NEITHER! [Gollum style: Ghaaaaaaaaaaaaa!] Ok, I'll admit it: I'm jealous. I'm jealous and I'm mad. I'm jealous of the annoyingly humble Pilgrim who heals instantaneously from injustices and hurts caused by other people and I'm jealous of my older brother living in a prayer house where he is practising what I so desperately need to learn experiencially and I'm mad at God for not being able to get through my busy thoughts to remind me why it is, exactly, that I'm working 12 hours a day, 6-7 days a week, to get done all the things I have to do to finish my degree and start the next one. Why do I have to destroy myself to live a meaningful life later? I don't know. I'm not sure anyone can tell me, or if I'm even asking the right question. I just feel like I'm running in a circular gauntlet: I'm hurting but I see no healthy options in any direction. It's not really anyone's fault, it's just that I don't know how to get out. Or maybe I don't want to get out or I'm not sure I'm supposed to get out. And reminding myself that "I can't do everything" is not encouraging anymore. I want to know what I can do.

"Everything is meaningless," says the Teacher, "completely meaningless." Keep this in mind: The Teacher was considered wise, and he taught the people everything he knew. He listened carefully to many proverbs, Studying and classifying them. The Teacher sought to find just the right words to express truths clearly. The words of the wise are like cattle prods- painful, but helpful. Their collected sayings are like a nail-studded stick with which a shepherd drives the sheep. But my child, let me give you some further advice: Be careful, for writing books is endless, and much study wears you out. That's the whole story. Now here is my final conclusion: Fear God and obey his commands, for this is everyone's duty. God will judge us for everything we do, including every secret thing, whether good or bad. -Ecclesiates 12:8-14