I guess it's just normal to be fascinated by anybody's failure, unless it's your own, of course.
Look at reality television--built on finding out, each week, who will fail. Who will not advance to be the next top chef, model, weight loser, etc. I'd like to think that people usually watch to find out if their favorites win, but I've been to the watching parties, and that's not what's going on.
At their core, most people want justice served, on a silver platter, tied up with a big red bow if that's not too much trouble, there's a dear, thank you so much. No, we won't eat it now, just put it on the table so we can just pick at it and slice it apart, and find all the faults and make fun of it to its face.
When you see somebody being a cunt to others, and getting away with it, the universe screams at you to root for vengeance.
But it's not just TV. Most people in this life would gladly flaunt what they have and you don't, because they want to feel better about themselves. Possessions, relationships, wealth, creative ability... they want you to know how great they are and aren't you jealous? And if you say you're not jealous, they dismiss it. Of course you're jealous, they claim, scrabbling at their possessions and whatnot and holding them close to themselves, because you would steal it if you thought you could get away with it. And there's a hint of truth to that.
I'd like to hold my head up high and claim that I'm nothing like this, but I can't. When I watch Intervention, the episodes I look forward to are the ones where people fail in their recovery, or "where are they now" eps where the crack addict is back on the street, blowing guys for money. I don't know why, but those are far more satisfying to watch. Perhaps I do not believe that I can maintain sobriety, or deal with depression the rest of my life? Perhaps seeing failure in others helps stave off the belief that it'll happen to me again? Or maybe I'm just an asshole.
Right now I am on the cusp of returning to some sort of life, but nothing to show for it, and nobody to share it with. The people I cared about once routinely ignore me, even on facebook where it's easy enough to "like" a post, as if to say, "Yes, I remember that you're still alive," but they never do it. The people who have been most important to me have abandoned me, and would not return, it seems, to piss on me if I was on fire. Most of this was my fault, but not all of it. I seem to pick bad matches when choosing relationships.
John Watson, at one point in BBC's Sherlock, asks what he did to deserve everybody in his life to be sociopaths, and it's pointed out to him that he made the choice... he chose his fiance to wed, his psycho roommate for a best friend. He didn't consciously know of their darker selves. Or did he just not want to admit that?
I gave up hiding what I was a while back, even if I didn't do much to change it. I suffer from depression, although "suffer" seems a small word to describe what it does to me. I have a tendency to drink too much if allowed, which I am doing a good job of controlling once again nowadays, after a big stumble off the path when Ex made a half-hearted attempt at some kind of reconciliation, although I doubt his sincerity now. But during the interview I limited any drinking I did to beers, and only with the potential boss. Even going out to the bars, I only had ginger ale, and though I was obviously fresh meat on the market, I did not fall victim to the sharks circling me.
I just wonder whether the success I seem to be about to achieve will really happen, or will I fall back on the old ways and be the contestant sent home in disgrace. I like to believe that I will flourish.
I believed once before, though, and the story did not end in my favor.