A Responsive Reading for the Self-Absorbed

I read somewhere that
the end result of
selfishness is
loneliness. I think
this is true.

No one understands my pain and suffering.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
I would never let someone I love go through this.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
Nothing ever goes right for me, no matter what I do.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
I hate it here; we should go back there. 
Poor, poor pitiful me.
No one cares. I have no one. I have nothing to live for.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
Things would be better if you would just do what I want.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
Why won't you give me one more chance?
Poor, poor pitiful me.
I'm sorry I'm not strong like you are.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
I want to just give up and die.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
Why did I even think you would help?
Poor, poor pitiful me.
I've tried to do the right thing and now look at my life.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
That's easy for you to say.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
Thanks for nothing.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
I wouldn't be in this mess if you would help me.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
You just don't get it. You never have. You never will.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
Why won't you just do what I ask?
Poor, poor pitiful me.
You have no idea what I have to go through.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
My life would be better if you hadn't ruined everything.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
It's all your fault.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
I guess it's all my fault. I'm worthless. You'd be better off without me.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
I'm so tired of people telling me I'm the one with the problem.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
I think you want me to fail.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
No matter what I do, it's not good enough for you.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
My friends don't understand why you're treating me like this.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
I'm sorry I'm not perfect like everyone else.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
Wow. I never thought you'd turn your back on me.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
How can you punish me for being honest?
Poor, poor pitiful me.
I have to lie because you wouldn't help me otherwise.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
I have to lie because you don't believe me.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
I stole because you left it right there.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
I stole because you wouldn't help me.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
It's your job to make me happy.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
You're the reason I'm such a mess.
Poor, poor pitiful me.
I can't stand living with you.
Poor, poor pitiful me.

I don't understand why I'm alone.
I don't understand why I'm alone.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Warren Zevon wrote a rock song entitled "Poor, Poor Pitiful Me" which I had never heard, to my knowledge. I was telling my sister about the poem I was going to post today and she said, "I think that's a song." I googled it and yes, it is. Linda Ronstadt and Terri Clark are among many who recorded it as well. One night I was thinking of some of the self-absorbed drama I have heard or heard of in my life, and decided that, like liturgical churches, those folks could have a litany of their own. To hear them talk, they have nothing else, so...

Confidence

from howtogetconfidence.org

Confidence attracts, no question
but it's not enough. Beneath the fluff
there needs to beat a heart that's
absolutely focused on the object of pursuit.
Perhaps the winning grin or graceful face
is better off alone until such time has shown
ability to put another person first,
with passion not for seeing only his or her
needs met but also the desire to stir
those of another and fulfil them.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Unyoked

There's no warranty at work in this stifling
situation. No fine print that, squinting,
one might find allowing for return
of all investments in relationship
that's gone so sour and headed south, taken turn
for worse, the worse for wear. It's not
that I no longer care, but wish there was
a legal loophole through which certain
snarky person might be pitched.
Same person by the way, would likely say
the same of me, as stubborn, I refuse
to let myself be used again. So I say "No"
to the request, provoking pleas, demands,
manipulations, invocations, begging, thievery
of all that's honest and forthright. I'm done.
Forgiveness? Done. Prayer? Done,
and that, I'll keep on doing but this
bending over backward to enable one
so selfish, tunnel-visioned, is no longer
a decision I will make. It's freeing, really,
recommended to those struggling with the tendency
all have to some degree to live a life unhealthy,
smothered by another, unrelenting yoke
of codependency.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Sanity Check

Tomorrow I will vent to Brent.
Today, it's been my sister
and some others who have listened
without offering advice, because
sometimes there is nothing left to say.
After all, it's not my fight or wisdom
that's in question. Not my choices,
just my phone that's getting texted
and about to drive me crazy.
(Right here would be a good place
to insert a long frustrated sigh).
Oh. My.
Tomorrow I will vent to Brent,
whose paid to hear me out and sit
there looking interested enough,
He'll reassure me that detachment
may be painful, but still preferable
to alternatives that I tried too long.
Call it coping mechanism,
meeting with a counselor,
a sanity check's the next thing
on my calendar. I'll gladly make the drive,
somewhat less so, pay the man
who seems to understand that everything
does not depend on me, not a matter of my being
strong or weak or loving those who think
I've let them down. Occasionally frowning,
he hears my secret fears, invites me share
my secret joys and  lets me cry and cuss
without a fuss because I've disappointed
tidy standards of propriety.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Brent may not appreciate this, come to think of it.  I'll ask him. Maybe he'll appreciate the free advertising and give me a discount. On the other hand, he might charge me for using his name without permission.

Pre-dawn Jog

The people sleeping in their beds still do not hear
me jogging past their little nests of concrete,
do not see the slightly lumpy woman sweating
in the coolness of the morning air, would not
care what motivates, inspires the perspiration
and the effort. And that's okay. How could they
know that underneath the clothing and the 50-something
skin beats a heart (beating rather quickly
with exertion) that hasn't lost desire for passion,
wonderment, for heat? For life? If surprise
of joy is only a mirage, at least I'll get some mileage
from the hope and if I die without my dreams
fulfilled completely, then I die in better shape
than I would be if I had stayed
in bed another hour.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

First Graders

Most television shows have been on air
for longer than they've been alive, so small,
but hearing outbursts one might well declare
they're experts on such things as classroom protocol,
at least about what other kids should do. "Well, he
is not supposed to talk now!" little girl cries out, surprised
when I remind her that she had to talk to tell me!
I warn them early on that I will be annoyed with tries
to keep me on a certain schedule, sentence started
"Mrs. G, we always do it this way!" They can trust me,
following the plans the school imparted
from their regular teacher who is sick (she must be!)
or simply getting married, depending on which child
is asked. It's mostly bluff, there's not much bite
behind my bark. With tiny ones, the mood is mild.
It's easy to discern the ones who didn't sleep last night,
which have the issues in the room, but if I'd missed them
that one there is quick to fill me in. "He's always like
that," whispering low, discreetly pointing to him.
Barely able to prevent my eyes from rolling, I remind this pretty tyke,
for perhaps the twenty-second time to please sit down,
and she complies with oddly understanding frown.





(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

The Lamp

Well-crafted, handsome lamp that graced
the desk so long she had to stop to calculate,
but almost overnight, it failed. The light
would flicker on, then off, sporadic times
that caught her in the midst of work
and were, therefore, annoying.
Change of bulb, a temporary answer only,
thorough cleaning had the same result.
New switch? New pull? New cord, but no.
So many hours the lamp had freely offered up
its helpful light while letters, bills, her work
had been productively completed, she
was loathe to relegate it to the trash. Rashly,
she presented it at the counter for repair,
prepared to bite the bullet on the cost.
The man instead just shook his head and
moved to chuck it in the bin but then he
noticed that she stared in horror at the thought.
"You want it back? Won't ever work," but
gratefully, she took it back and set it on a shelf
above her latest purchase, shiny lamp with
such a clever shade it made the whole room
elegant. She grinned each time she turned it on,
so brilliant was its function and design.
In time, the day would come when she could let
the old one go, but not just yet. It met a need
for now, a bookend for some tall and heavy
volumes that she'd previously laid upon
their sides. Sitting now instead propped up
against the tired and failing lamp gave just
the reason to keep her old, once faithful friend
around, but oh, she thought with some regret,
if she had known the difference in her life
that having this new lamp would make, she might,
just might, have shopped for one a little sooner.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013


Sometimes we're hesitant to move on to new things, so wrapped up we can become in the old. But sometimes change is better. Not always, but sometimes. I was reminded of something a friend of mine said years ago: "Sometimes you need to change the lightbulb. Sometimes you need to throw out the lamp." My mind just followed her words down that path awhile, and this is what I ended up with.