My Sadness is Deeper than Yours

My sadness is deeper than yours. My interior life is richer than yours. I am more interesting than you. I don’t care about anybody else’s problems. They are not as serious as mine. Nobody knows the weight I carry, the trouble I’ve seen. There are worlds in my head that nobody has access to: fortunately for them, fortunately for me. I have seen things that you will never see, and I have feelings that you are incapable of feeling, that you would never allow yourself to feel, because you lack the capacity and the curiosity. Once you felt the hint of such a feeling, you would stamp it out. I am a martyr to futility and I don’t expect to be shut down by a pretender. Mothballs are an aphrodisiac to me, beauty depresses me. You could never hope to fathom the depth of my feelings, deeper than death. I look down upon you all from my lofty height of lowliness. The fullness of your satisfaction lacks the cadaverous purity of my pain. Don’t talk to me about failure. You don’t know the meaning of the word. When it comes to failure, you’re strictly an amateur. Bush league stuff. I’m ten times the failure you’ll ever be. I have more to complain about than you, and regrets: more than a few, too many to mention. I am a fully-qualified failure, I have proven it over and over again. My credentials are impeccable, my resume flawless. I have worked hard to put myself in a position of unassailable wretchedness, and I demand to be respected for it. I expect to be rewarded for a struggle that produced nothing. I want the neglect, the lack of acknowledgment. And I want the bitterness that comes with it too.

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4 Responses to “My Sadness is Deeper than Yours”

  1. I just returned from the Rosamund Felsen gallery where I fixated on this specific drawing for several minutes. These sentiments continuously run through my mind…but seeing them illustrated so made me realize everyone thinks the same things too.

    Thank you.

  2. Underneath of this is an advertisement for AT&T. It’s a mini movie. Nine Minutes and eight seconds long. At least for me. And I thought, well, this makes sense, a strange long form commercial that in the end is an advertisement for a phone, a smart phone. So I watched it. Then I forgot why I came to the page. Then I remembered. And that last part, about wanting to be neglected, and then be bitter. You should just post more commercials here. Which brings me back to the inspiration of this piece welling inside me. If only I could expound upon unassailable rights as well as you do. If only if only. Thanks.

  3. For once being “Too clever by half” is a blessing. Sorry. Marne of the Beatitudes. (Like the look of that, ‘Marne of the Beatitudes’, to think I have always thought my name Marne was befitting a race horse, a yacht, . . . . Oh Wait! This is not my Blog! Good place as any to embarrass myself. Is this place to say “I love you John.”?

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