Remember being young, and emotional? When everything was so huge, and grandiose, and you were just coming into your ability to feel these terribly overwhelming emotions for the first time? Back then it was appropriate to be in over your head with sadness, and melancholy because you had so little knowledge and maturity in dealing with feelings that big and complex. It was fully appropriate to listen to Further Seems Forever, Death Cab for Cutie, or Thursday while laying on your bed and looking at photos or old letters that caused you to cry, or otherwise feel more intensely. It was a ritual used to acknowledge the importance of something, and grieving the new negative dynamic that had befallen you. In short, you could pout, grieve, and be as shitty as you wanted for pretty much as long as you wanted…
Enter adulthood. You have responsibilities now. You have professional and collegiate colleagues that will comprise a great deal of your adult associations, and will help you advance in your endeavors both personal and professional. Oh shit, you have a family now too? Spouse and kids? A dog? Two car payments, a shit load of credit card bills, a huge fuckin mortgage, and you’re still paying off that MacBook Pro that you bought 4 years ago? Dude, life is shitty as balls now! You have great stuff, but the stuff doesn’t make you happy, and the burden to always remain fully rational and composed is a task that you are required to perform at all times without compromise. Failure to comply earns you a host of really negative consequences, not the least of which is people thinking of you as some fuck-tard shit-stick that never grew out of the whole high-school drama mode, and now spend your time boring people with how shitty things are for you now. Yeah, that’s precisely what people in the real adult world will think of you if you fail your role as an emotionless, well-adjusted adult.
So let’s say that you’ve handled all the other stuff just fine, you know – handling your responsibilities and putting on a great show for everyone – but something happens along the way. Maybe your spouse is getting sexually suggestive text messages really late at night, and then lies about it. Or maybe fate decides to fuck with you and introduce you to someone with whom you are perfectly compatible, and love being with, but your life just has no room for true happiness; you’re too busy trying to prove to yourself and the world that you’re worth something, so miss out on a love that could have really fulfilled you. Or, maybe shit just sucks for you all the time; trouble with the law, friends, family, finances, god, blah blah blah ad infinitum. You know that you feel like you’re drowning in shit soup, made of orphan tears, and poo. So what do you do?
Common cures are booze, and drugs. Handful of vicodin + 5th of whiskey = temporary relief. But you know what you just did; you bought yourself one night of relief at the expense of the entire next day because you’re even shittier feeling, and maybe you even blew off some responsibilities. So now you’re extra screwed because you’re fucking up, and you’re hungover, and the problems you tried to run from are still there.
So what does one do? Rather, what does a supposedly well adjusted adult do? Haha! Yeah, ok, so you’re not at all well adjusted, but thankfully your loved ones typically cart you out of the room before your drunk ass tells that shit head what you really think of them and that super fucked up thing they did. You’re act has either fooled everyone, or the people don’t really give enough of a shit about you to ask “what’s up with bein’ all emo?” There aren’t a whole lot of options, sadly. You can’t harp on it because your friends will start trying to avoid you. You can’t just get wasted all the time because you’ll end up living under a fuckin bridge. Oh yeah, and you’ll ruin your credit score.
In short, as adults, we can no longer erect monuments to our emotions. We can pay no sweet tribute to those we’ve wronged in any significant way. Waxing lyrical about the good times, and lamenting the dreary new state of things is for high school, and adult life makes no such allowances for loss, regret, and p… well, it starts with “p” and rhymes with “sane.” See, as an adult, you can’t even say the word. The emo-cops will get you.
Yours in contemplation,