Paranoia or Self-Pity

Most of us use the term paranoia frequently, even joke about it, especially in these times. I’ve always been suspicious of terms that are used casually, especially when the anxiety disorder—if it is that—is taken seriously medically. We tend to be rather forgiving of ourselves and others when we describe the fears we are experiencing as “paranoid”—whether they are or not. The same forgiveness is not granted to those of us who say we are “full of self-pity.” It’s as though the medical term excuses us because it is shared by many and not self-caused, whereas “self-pity”—well, that is just a form of self-indulgence—like the 19th-century view of women laid low by mysterious pain. For them, the fainting couch was created for use during the intimate massage, actually manual manipulation by a doctor or midwife leading to orgasm, that was prescribed for many forms of mysterious pain.

Speaking only of myself, what I’m suffering from these days is not paranoia. I don’t believe in the many theories put forth to explain the coronavirus. I think we simply don’t know and may never know, as the many mutations of this original term develop—who knows why.

What I’m suffering from these days is simply self-pity:

My soaked bedroom floor from a misdirected garden sprinkler.

The unacceptable heat here in New Mexico, where we used to have cool summers—and that this is caused by climate changes is not comforting.

The photos of happy tourists here from adjoining, highly infected states who do not wear face masks even though it is the state law—and the failure of our government to enforce this law.

The failure of our local government to figure out how to take down an offending monument in the middle of town, which honors the “heroes” who fought “the savage Indians,” which has been defaced for years and now defaced again. It will be fenced off by the police, inspiring more outrage, rather than taken down…

The misery of trying to unfreeze my credit score which some “malevolent person” (as I describe it to myself) has bought about, without the army of accountants and lawyers who supposedly oversee my affairs but knew anything about it.

And now I can’t buy a new car!

Yes, it’s clear, I am full of self-pity, and this is not a sign of paranoia.

No one but me, or the universe, created these difficulties…

And that I am free of this virus—what is it being called today?—is as lacking in any explanation as anything else.

But—I don’t blame myself, even though my self-pity is clearly my responsibility. The kindness of my friends and family as they worry and try to protect me speaks of more generosity of spirit than I’ve believed in before. And I kind of like my grumpiness—the good side of self-pity—as I silently deal out my fury at my world…

But at least I’m honest about it, and I’m not lying on a fainting couch.

Let us be worthy of our pain!

In New Mexico coronavirus New Mexico