I never labeled myself as masochistic. It was a trend, helped along by Meredith Grey, a barely-disguised proclamation of sophistication, when I saw nothing admirable about it. I've always prefered to call myself optimistic--hoping that people are going to surprise me with what I want to hear.
The thing is, when you want what you can't have, it's not optimism anymore.
So I got to thinking...are we all masochistic? Is the very act of hope, against overwhelming odds, a form of masochism?
We all want what is impossible for us to have. And at that point it ceases being charming optimism and becomes foolish, self-inflicted pain. We hit ourselves with that hammer. And it's not because it feels good when we stop.
The truth is, we never stop. For some of us, it's the glamour of pain that draws us to it. For others, it's the consistency, the comfort of knowing exactly what is in store. For me, it's the pathetic, idealistic wish, that one day I raise the hammer and it won't hurt, and what I want most of all will appear instead.
And so I wait, bruised and all, for the tide to turn.
No comments:
Post a Comment