A Meditation on Self-Pity

This could really be a single line: you don’t have a right to self-pity.

Self-pity is only ever theft from yourself.

What have I not been given? I stand before the spirit twice a month, before my spouses, and have nothing to complain about. I have nothing I can whine about, nothing to feel sorry for.

A roof, an able body, an income, food, the light with which I was born, my experiences—what is there to complain about?

I could be standing in shit to my chin and I will have nothing to complain of.

I cry when I tell god and my spouses that I am rich beyond my dreams. I never expected to make it to this age, never expected to make it here, never expected to be able to be healed.

I beat the family betting pool. They were taking bets on when I would kill myself, trying to talk me into it.

I’ve outlived friends and the wildest dreams I ever cherished, sleeping curled around my backpack in a public park.

I’ve beat the odds over and over.

I have no business with self-pity.