Down, Blue, Low, Out of Sorts

Down, blue and low are all metaphors, when you think about it. We use metaphors for sadness for the same reason we use them for love (crazy, magical, falling) -- because the feelings are in some way directly untranslatable and appear so unreasonable to those who aren't immediately feeling them. "You're feeling sorry for yourself," said my daughter A., adding quickly, "Not that you don't have a right to." Yes, but "feeling sorry for yourself", as opposed to others taking pity on you, does have that patina of childish self-indulgence, narcissistic attention-seeking (if only the attention of yourself to yourself) that bodes no good. And those who look askance are right, in a way: you stow away your selfhood in a bubble of bad feeling, forgetting that others are suffering more than you are, though it's true that still other Others are suffering far less.

For example, here I am mourning my lost breast and (dubious) desirability, not to mention vigor, and a youngish woman (by comparison with me, that is -- something like 38 years old) of my acquaintance, who has two young children, has just finished chemo for invasive breast cancer, AND has a husband who has lost his job and hasn't been able to find another one in a year, though he is educated and experienced in his field. Now THAT'S what we Jews call tsouris. I feel guilty about feeling so sad when I think about her. Yet when I swivel my head, I see all my friends, not one of whom has had to go through what I have with my bodily ills, and then I just feel mad.

This is nothing many others haven't felt, I'm sure. My daughter C. reminded me today that I felt much the same one week after surgery last January. So this irritable mood could be temporary. Likely it's my futile reaction to having my usual distractions taken away, since restlessness and a certain grief are pretty much my default positions. What normally rescues me is the feeling that I am working toward a goal, say making money, writing a book, looking for a lover, solving all my children's problems. And now it's just me and me (and two cats). And, of course, you.