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All our lives we are told to treat other like we want to be treated, to put our hearts out on the line in emotional relationships, and always be true to ourselves. Films tell us, books tell us, some of our parents tell us, music warbles it at us – over and over again it’s the same fucking message from everywhere. DO NICE THINGS! THINK NICE THOUGHTS! BE EXCELLENT TO EACH OTHER! I just want to ask one question: Why? No make that two questions: Why? And: Does this ever work?

While I can’t say that I’ve always been perfect in my romantic dealings I’ve always tried to act the way I’d want someone else to act with me. I’ve been nice, asked questions, gone to social events I wouldn’t have otherwise attended and been gracious throughout, and for what? What exactly have I had in return? NOTHING. Maybe, just maybe, I’m being a little bit dramatic here, a little bit extravagant with my misery, but that’s what it seems like. You’re nice to people and they dick you about incessantly. You try and treat other people with a shred of respect and you put yourself out there, you admit to yourself, to other people, that you might have feelings (feelings! God forbid you admit you have feelings!) and then the rug comes out from underneath you and you’re left worse off than when you began.

The worst thing is that the only other option is worse than the first: being a dick. When you look at it objectively (and I’m nothing if I’m not objective, right? RIGHT?) being a dick seems to have all sorts of things going for it. Being a dick gets you good jobs, it gets you sweet raises, it gets you buff girl/boyfriends and it gets you a totally awesome life even if you are spiritually bereft. Having spent a good portion of the last 10+ years not so much wrestling, as rolling around in the dirt flailing, with issues I don’t even want to start going into here, being spiritually bereft, and able to enjoy vaguely emotional films without blubbering incessantly seems like a nice life. I want nice shit! Fuck it – Patrick Bateman had a good life, right? Can’t I even have that?

But being a dick isn’t an ‘option’ really is it? It’s something you either are, or aren’t. And maybe I’m a terrible person in dozens of other ways, I can’t be like that. I just can’t be Patrick Bateman, which is reassuring in some ways, I can’t be a heartbreaker, I can’t do it the way other people do. If I am to follow the hippie dippy shit that self-help books tell me to, like ‘being yourself’ and ‘staying true to you’ then I’m a cantankerous curmudgeon with a dash of hopeless romantic. It’s a shitty mix to be honest, and it’s fairly alienating, but it’s who I am. It’s what I do best.

What’s the solution? Is there one? Do you just keep rolling the dice and hope that one day it’ll turn up trumps? Are mixed metaphors the answer? Why am I even asking you all? In my heart of hearts I know there is no answer. Life is a crap shoot and you either luck out or you don’t. Whether I will not remains to be seen.

Now, er, don’t mind me I’m going to watch some films and stuff my face with Party Rings till I explode in a cloud of icing sugar and misery.

 

Photo by H & L Metz