The Onus of Being a Burden; Or, the Art of Self-Pity

I am, according to the actual definition, lame. As such it's pretty easy to occasionally just dissolve into a pool of self-pity. I must confess that the process of feeling utterly wretched can actually be a little bit fun. Follow this thought pattern: I hurt all the time. I can't sleep because I hurt too much. I'm cranky because I can't sleep and I hurt too much. No one wants to hang out with a cranky pants. I have no friends and they wouldn't want to hang out with me anyways because I can't do anything fun. I can't do anything. Strangers look at me funny- all they see is my cane that I keep dropping. God I'm so clumsy. I can't do anything around the house. I'm such a burden to Dan: he has to do everything and he didn't ask for that. I create so much work for other people. I'm a nuisance, a bother and just a giant fun-sucking waste of space. I am... (melodramatic pause and large blow into Kleenex for maximum pathetic effect) A BURDEN.


(The obligatory Pilgrim's Progress "I have a heavy burden" reference for all you Menno Simons grads out there. Just to clarify I'm not poor Christian- I'm the angry grey blob).

See? Isn't that downwards melodramatic spiral just a tad gratifying? Who doesn't like unleashing their inner drama student? It's kind of like when you get to that sloppy, teary drunk phase at the end of a long night, except no one is able to call you out on your bad behavior because you're lame!

However, it's surprising how quickly feeling like a burden morphs into feeling like an asshole. One weekend when I was feeling particularly miserable, Dan and I saw The Dallas Buyers Club. Instead of being inspired, I felt like a jerk: there's Matthew, dying of AIDS while accomplishing something really good; and then there's me, waiting for a surgery because I have a very treatable, non-life threatening condition.  Plus I'm whining way more than Matthew. I am an asshole. Later I saw 12 Years a Slave. God, I'm the worst person ever. Then I started thinking of the horrible lives of all my dialysis-bound Renal patients and, if you're trading congenital illnesses, mine is a pretty good one to have.

See? Feeling like a burden = feeling like a selfish asshole = feeling like a selfish jerk of a self-loathing burden.

I think all of my self-pity really stemmed from the fact that I didn't want to burden people around me with my grief. (I was saving all my burden issues for Dan, which I knew wasn't fair, and which I knew just made me the absolute worst). I needed to be "fine" for most people because I didn't want to be seen as weak or pathetic. I may cry a lot, but I'm Sara Ross! I get stuff done! I keep my shit in order! (at least in public). Letting people know how I felt wasn't an option. Conversely the more I protected myself with being Fine, the more depleted I because.

Needless to say this "I'm a burden/asshole/but I'm Fine" mentality wasn't very healthy. I've battled depression for a few years and I began to slide deeper and deeper into a bad place. However, I'm very proud of the fact that I respected my intuition, and I asked for help. And I got help. I got help from Dan, my brother, my friends, the doctor, a counsellor, my cats and kindly strangers holding the door open for me. I developed new strategies to process all these feelings surrounding my hip, and I've worked really hard to erase that "burden" mentality; it may be true that I can't do a lot of physical things but I'm not totally useless. Dan and my mother tell me so. When I'm not dwelling on how sorry I feel for myself, I have a lot of energy to appreciate all that makes life amazing and to concentrate on what I can do. Like make kick-ass baby quilts and wicked embroidery projects. And, when people ask about my hip and how I'm doing, I'm more honest: I say I don't want to talk about it or I say it sucks.

Most days I remain emotionally afloat and I'm okay with being lame, and I stay far away from that pool of self-pity. But when I need to, I have a good cathartic cry, feel the slightest bit pathetic, and then I carry on with my day.