I feel I should warn you that this is not going to be a happy post. I am feeling utterly wretched right now, and in an effort to break out of this state, I’m afraid I’ve come here to talk it out. I feel emotionally nauseous – akin to the physical state where you’re convinced you’re going to be sick but it just doesn’t quite happen. There’s tension, and dread, and the grim knowledge that there is something inside that is really not good, and it’s got to come out on way or another.
There are a few things happening in my boring secret identity life that are upsetting and frustrating me at the moment, so I was starting at a not so good point this morning. Then I got an e-mail from a friend saying that his first book signing was happening this Saturday.
Since that moment, I have been in the most anguished state. I became two people. One was thrilled for him, and genuinely delighted that the unattainable dream has happened for a thoroughly nice man. We used to do amateur dramatics together, and honestly, he is such a great bloke; good to his wife and kids, supportive of his community, a damn fine actor too by the way. This part of me skipped off an e-mail, full of congratulations and apologies for not being able to attend due to a family commitment (off to see Dad and family this weekend and I am very excited about it).
But all the while, a shadow peeled off from this part of me and slunk into a corner, where, starved of sunlight it deformed and twisted into a hideous beast. And this beast has been with me for the rest of the day, making me so gut-wrenchingly upset that I have even been in tears. What a Big Girls Blouse. Honestly, there are much more worthy things to get upset about. How self indulgent.
But as the day wore on, this started to really get to me. Not because it was making me miserable, more because I couldn’t understand how I could feel so happy for him, and yet so horrifically jealous at the same time. No, it’s was beyond jealous – that’s too simple a word… it felt… destructive. Self-destructive.
The strange thing is that as I write this, he may be reading it! Hi Steve, if you are – please bear with me here!
So I am here to unpick this. Some things have occurred to me whilst writing this.
One: the book signing is taking place in what used to be my favourite local book shop. In my former life pre-motherhood, I used to live near London, and the book shop in question is one that was my special place to go and have coffee and be totally, unashamedly bookish. I used to sit there with my drink, book in hand and look over the balcony down into the main store area and daydream about having my first book signing there.
But that isn’t going to happen is it? And knowing this, reading about Steve being there instead, feels like the universe has edited me out of that picture and replaced me with someone else.
I don’t begrudge him that for a moment, I’m just trying to understand why this hurts so much.
His book is a YA fantasy book. There’s no problem with that, it’s not like there aren’t enough readers or that we will even compete with each other. But it does sting. Why? Why? Why! If it had been a crime thriller, would it have been easier? I don’t know.
I hate myself right now. And I’m scared that you’ll all be thinking that I am the most awful person – that you won’t believe me when I say that I am happy for him. But I really am! Steve, if you are reading this, please believe me!
I just want it too.
I want it so bad it steals the breath from my lungs and pulls sweat out of my palms. My innards are twisting with longing for what he has now.
I don’t want to take it from him. I want him to be fabulously successful. So why does this hurt so much?
Because you’re human, sweetie. And this is what happens when you’re human.
You have permission to feel wretched about it. Totally you do. Because it’s what you want, and sometimes when we come from a space of feeling limited we think if they’ve got it, we can’t have it.
He might be proof though, if he can, so can you.
But most importantly ~ don’t beat yourself up for being a normal human being with normal human feelings. I used to feel the same way too.
Joely Black’s last blog post..How Twitter helped me work out that the universe is hitting me over the head with a bunch of metaphorical cats
Emma, I’m sure if Steve is reading, he’ll understand and have as much sympathy for you as I do. Anyone who writes must have had those fantasies – holding the book in your hands for the first time, telling people ‘I’m a writer,’ seeing your name in the bookshop window, and so on. Those of us who number other writers among our friends must also have had the same ambiguity you describe towards our friends’ successes. We’re happy for them. We want them to succeed. We admire their talents and know they deserve success. But – O God! – why wasn’t it me?
Writers have to be obsessive, driven people. For the great majority of us, almost all the time, all we know is failure, rejection, indifference, even condescension and insult. Yet we keep at it, year after year, writing the stories, perfecting the craft, studying the industry, looking for the breaks. If we didn’t want success so badly, there is no way we could keep on trying for so long, against such incredible odds. It’s who we are.
Yes, it makes us feel like shit when the applause goes elsewhere, but it is also what makes us strong enough to keep going, no matter what.
Don’t feel guilty chick. This doesn’t make you a horrible person. It’s not even about your friend at all. It’s about possibility and fairness. The fact that someone close to you has been published proves that it’s possible for someone like you to be published. And knowing that it’s possible, it just feels all the more unfair that it hasn’t happened.
When something you want happens to someone you know, I think the closer they are, the more it hurts. It’s like, say you’re a child, and you want a cabbage patch kid (not speaking from experience here at all, obviously). When you see kids in the ads on tv, that doesn’t really hurt. If someone in your school gets one, then you feel pretty envious. But if your sister gets one, then that really stings. Because it could have been you – so why wasn’t it?
Of course you want the best for your friend. Your pain doesn’t make that any less true. It’s about proximity, not person.
Kate’s last blog post..Musical self-help no. 6, Valentine’s Day edition – Pink
Sorry, it took me some time to find this poem (http://www.bartleby.com/113/1076.html).
I refer to it often when I feel MY hunger—the kind you describe. I have had this hunger all my life (always looking in windows). I find the last line to be the most soothing.
Emily Dickinson
Part One: Life
LXXVI
I HAD been hungry all the years;
My noon had come, to dine;
I, trembling, drew the table near,
And touched the curious wine.
’T was this on tables I had seen,
When turning, hungry, lone,
I looked in windows, for the wealth
I could not hope to own.
I did not know the ample bread,
’T was so unlike the crumb
The birds and I had often shared
In Nature’s dining-room.
The plenty hurt me, ’t was so new,—
Myself felt ill and odd,
As berry of a mountain bush
Transplanted to the road.
Nor was I hungry; so I found
That hunger was a way
Of persons outside windows,
The entering takes away.
Diana Maus’s last blog post..Working without the whip
Hi Emma,
It’s a tough one for me to comment on because I feel so sorry for you and it would appear that I am, in some roundabout way, the cause of your unhappiness. You are not a bad person for feeling the things that you do, so stop beating yourself up. Everything that you feel is normal and natural, and I really applaud your honesty; it takes real guts to write something like that.
Keep the faith. It’s the only thing that you can do when you are pursuing your dreams. Someone out there WILL love your work and see the talent that you have. If your work contains an ounce of the passion that you obviously feel for it, it’s just a matter of time.
Steve x
Oh, I really don’t know what to say to you all. ‘Thank you’ is so bland and inadequate. Right now, the entire English language feels bland and inadequate – or rather my command of it. (Sorry English).
I agonised about whether to publish this, and I am so glad I did, getting it out (or throwing up to extend the unpleasant metaphor) has enabled me to start processing this in a more healthy way.
@ Joely – your words about feeling limited really resonate. These dark thoughts come from a small, doubting, fearful corner of me. I am trying hard not to beat myself up, but I worry that if I totally allow this, I’ll completely turn into a spoilt child!
@ Graham – oh I adore you. Why are you in Australia!? Come and live in Somerset! Thank you for reminding me that the parts of me that make this hurt are also the parts of me that make dreams into something real. Yes, we do have to be obsessive, don’t we?
@ Kate – ah my friend, you are like a soothing balm made of pure sageness. You’re right, of course, you’ve identified exactly where the sting came from. “Because it could have been you – so why wasn’t it?” says it all. Unfortunately the answer that appears when I think of that is: “Because my book isn’t good enough.” Now I am trying hard to argue against that!
@ Diana – if I am your muse, then you are the hand I reach for when I stumble. The poem is beautiful, thank you for taking the time to find it and put it here.
@ Steve – It means a lot to me that you’ve commented here – I hope you don’t think the worse of me for reading it. I’ve found that this blog compels me to honesty, even when I don’t want to be, one of its many benefits in my life. I read on your site about all the rejections and have started to wonder whether I gave up too quickly. Looks like I might need to get that Writers and Artists Yearbook! Thanks for the encouragement.
I think when people distant from us are successful, it’s easier to put it in a box mentally, rationalize that they’re part of that “other” scene that isn’t even real in our world, sort of 2D, etc. When it’s somebody close to us, there’s no rationalizing… it becomes very real. The fact that there’s something tangible that we don’t have is a real thing and not a hypothetical thing.
Take the negative energy you feel from this, focus it into a little flame, point it at your own ass, and churn out some amazing work.
…and had I slowed down and finished reading the comments, I’d realize I was just poorly paraphrasing Kate’s comment.
Emma, I hear you. And across the space/time that divides us, I offer you a hand of encouragement, friendship, and acceptance. It is hard. And it isn’t fair. It is painful. But, as Wesley said, “Life is pain. Anyone who says differently is selling something.”
christy’s last blog post..Rumi and President Obama
@ Keith – Don’t worry, I’ve known Kate for years and I’ve watched many people find themselves in the same position as you! But in all seriousness, it wasn’t just paraphrasing – you added your own firey stuff to it, and I thank you for that!
@ Christy – You get the first prize in a secret competition that I only just made up: The ‘Being the First Person to Quote ‘The Princess bride’ in an Emminently Appropriate Place’ competition. I love that film, and my God, I have such a crush on Wesley (especially before the mask comes off).
*Takes hand* Thank you. This means a lot to me.
Have your read any Anne Lamott? In Bird by Bird she talks about the jealousy she feels when her friends get published in a most human and caring way. Makes you feel less crazy, in my opinion.
I haven’t, but I will seek it out now! Thanks R.