HUMOR | HEARTBREAK | MENTAL HEALTH
Excuse Me, But I Think You’ve Confused Me With Someone Who Cares
The day I played drums with Phil Collins.
Ah, how sweet it is not caring.
I’m not talking about not caring out of rude arrogance — not that type of not caring. No, I’m talking about when the not caring comes to us in that calm, assured “I’m-simply-too-far-down-the-road-to-care anymore” kind of way.
Where hopeless pining over lost love is the issue, it’s a sure sign that The Emotional Maturity Bus has circled back around to rescue us, lovelorn orphans.
Perhaps you loved and lost.
Maybe you cried a river of tears. Perhaps you suffered from complicated grief reactions and thought you’d have PTSD the rest of your life.
You may have lost your will to live because you couldn’t face spending the rest of your days without your twin flame. You may have trapped yourself in analysis paralysis or become emotionally catatonic.
If you’re like me, you may have researched, navel-gazed, and done enough self-flagellation to put the best guilt-ridden Catholics to shame.
The Parting Of The (Dead) Sea
Then, one day it just happens! Someone mentions your ex, and you reflexively make that sticking-your-finger-down-your-throat gagging gesture and roll your eyes — surprising everyone — including yourself.
It’s a defining moment, so quick, make a video of it for TikTok. That curling the lip thing you did? It’s not a tic; it’s a sign of health and freedom. It means you’ve made it. Just a few days ago, you were still that sad sap crying and whining over Their Royal Highnesses.
You finally reached your destination: ‘meh.’
For months (and perhaps years), you felt like a victim, opting for the path of least resistance. You acquiesced. You hid in your home. You did everything you could to steer clear of all the flying monkeys and the dung being flung at you in what felt like the smear campaign of the century.
Today is different.
Your friends start doing double-takes when they see the new you. Rather than lying in the fetal position crying about your ex and Satan’s Mistress — you’re all dressed up, every hair in place, and sporting a new ‘do.
You feel endued with a strange power. Something positive has risen within you. You channel Rocky Balboa. You’re wrapped and ready! You walk around the house swinging. Bring it on!
You envision confronting all those who disparaged you, all those who didn’t take the time to come straight to you and get the facts. You’re pumped. You want to go out there in the world and set the record straight!
That train of thought comes to a screeching halt.
Your common sense was kind enough to allow you to ‘have a moment’ before finally reaching over and smacking the fool out of your misdirected enthusiasm — ordering her to sit the heck down.
Soon after that, you find yourself uttering words that, until that time, you’d only read in self-help books. You hear someone using your mouth and your voice saying: “Nah, I don’t care anymore. I’m not wasting any more time and energy on it.”
And this concluded all broadcasting from the Gloom & Doom Network.
You hear that irritating static sound from the sudden dead air space. You feel a voltage surge as all of your mental faculties come fully back online. There’s one catch, however, one caveat. None of them will process further ruminations about your The Dearly Departed — except for occasional ones for Medium.com writing purposes, of course.
There comes a time when even you get sick of your story. You move on without fanfare, and that was the goal.
Sometimes there’s a bonus.
You may even discover a musical talent you didn’t know you had; I did. The day The Bus came to rescue me, I played my best air drums ever. My buddy Phil let me accompany him on a little musical number he wrote just for me.
It was fun, but boy, am I glad we didn’t have the cameras installed in the house back then! LOL
Take it away, Phil.
Take it away, Phil.
