Being the horribly nosy person that I am, I couldn’t help but overhear a conversation the other day in my school hallway. Two girls were standing in the middle of the hallway, making everything suck for everyone else. The girls looked almost identical: bronze skin, skin-tight animal print skirts, and hair that stood so tall, it practically raked the ceiling (dyed black, naturally). They were loudly discussing the pointlessness of the classes we had to take and the triviality of life in general:
“I can’t stand this fucking school anymore. I hate it and I hate my life. Literally nothing matters.”
While I don’t agree with what she said, that sentiment didn’t really surprise me; I know a lot of people, especially people my age or in their early twenties, that are disillusioned with life. I mean, you don’t need me to tell you that pretty much everything in the world is wrong. All you have to do is look around for yourself. It’s very easy to want to give up when it feels like there’s nothing worth fighting for.
Her words took me to a time last year when I felt like giving up. I had just gone through an earth shattering “break up” (If you can call it that) with my best friend. It was especially horrible because in our entire nine years of best-friendship, we had never really had a fight. I mean, there had been minor disputes here and there, but, for the most part, it had been smooth sailing for us. Because of that, we didn’t really know how to deal with any sort of conflict in our friendship and the anger between us just kind of…slowly simmered.
Then everything exploded.
As I’ve already explained countless times, I do not do well with change. The very idea of anything changing makes me want to take up residence in the Appalachian Mountains and live in solitude for the rest of my days. Needless to say, I didn’t handle this shift in our friendship gracefully. I looked at my friend, and I just cared so much about preserving our friendship, but it seemed like she didn’t care at all, and that made me neurotic and overly-emotional and generally a walking cesspool of misery. I just cared too much.
While the closest friendship I’d ever had was slowly decomposing, I got a lot of advice from others. You know, the requisite, “Forget about it”.
Unfortunately, I never ‘forget about it’. I dwell. I dwell like nobody’s business. I used to think that this was a flaw in my personality, that if I really wanted to expand as a member of the human race, I needed to stop caring so much and start growing a thicker skin. I thought that I needed to learn how to give up.
It took me a while to realize that that just wasn’t me and would never be me. I’m not a quitter. I mean, I quit stupid things like bassoon lessons and jazz band all the time, but when it’s about something that truly matters, like, oh, I dunno, human beings, I don’t let it go without first being crushed under a giant pile of angst. Because I just generally like people. I think people are amazing. I truly believe that everyone is intrinsically good and should be given the benefit of the doubt in almost any situation.
I am aware, however, that I’m definitely not in the majority here, especially these days. People live for themselves. And I do, too, of course. I just…try really hard not to hurt anyone’s feelings while I do so, and maybe even make a few friends along the way.
So I guess this whole post was just a really ramble-y, cheesy, incoherent way of saying that there isn’t anything wrong with caring about something or someone with all your heart and being reluctant to give up. There isn’t anything wrong with seeming vulnerable. There isn’t anything wrong with dwelling, just a little bit, on important chapters of your life that may be coming to a close.
Because, honestly, nine times out of ten, I’d rather love a little too much than not at all.