Too Much Martyrdom

Since losing his job at the beginning of the year, my friend Sam has been on unemployment and a downward slide. He sleeps til noon and spends so many waking hours locked in his recliner in front of a television that he can recite commercials backwards and forwards. And in search of answers to questions he isn't even sure of, he drinks, steadily and seriously, until he doesn't have to think at all.

He emerges from his apartment in a badly stained and wrinkled t shirt, worn out jeans and ripped Nikes, his hair a tangled mess, unshaven and homeless looking. He reeks of stale cigarette smoke and scotch and his voice is muffled and hoarse with disuse. He immediately begins to tell me how well he is doing, despite evidence to the contrary, and for the half hour drive to Texas, I listen to his stories - of his photography class and how his students adore him, of lunches with teen age girls begging him to photograph them in the nude, of his constant salvation of others, his rightness, and his martyrdom. Every story has the same theme of being under or over appreciated, under or over loved and they all end with him being a hero in a valiant struggle of good against evil. He is weary and long suffering, put upon and put down, and once or twice his voice breaks and he cries. Life is too much for him and he clings to his ego and his stories as if they were bits of a life raft in a rough ocean.

The night before, I had watched my friend Liv lose her temper and self destruct over a remark made by a co-worker. Holding back her tears, she had protested and fought like a trapped animal when confronted, refusing to admit any culpability or participation. Either she goes or I go! she spit at her manager in a rage, And I have a pretty good idea who's more valuable! It was an awkward and uncomfortable scene, filled with pain and anger and righteous indignation. Her need to be right and in control outweighed her good sense and gave her an exaggerated sense of her own importance - she had hit the wall of her battle with the world and she broke, stalking out in misery and spite, her wounded pride in pieces, her ultimatum hanging in the air like an echo.

People at odds with themselves can't help being at odds with the world, as if no matter the cost, they would rather be right than happy. Misery seeks and finds them without even trying and they embrace it like a long lost friend.