“Rejection”
Mar 09, 2020Even when I’m at my happiest, I’m a miserable, cynical prick. It’s why I left Los Angeles for New York City. If money and love can’t make me happy, I don’t know what can.
I find myself falling back into old habits, sitting around at home with my thumbs up my ass, staring at the wall, wondering if it’s too early in the day to start drinking.
My therapist is worried about my rekindled relationship with alcohol. I tell him it’s fine, I have it under control. We’ve been through a rough year, alcohol and me, and we’ve come out on the other side more mature adults and respectful of each other’s need for space and time alone. My therapist sees through my bullshit.
It’s disheartening being rejected on a daily basis. Every job applied for, not a single response. Even telling me I’m too ugly and laughing in my face would be more acceptable than silence. But silence and lack of interaction is how the modern human communicates best. I hate it and it makes me angry and resentful. I never learned to deal with proper rejection, but I’d still rather deal with an aggressive version of it. At least then I know where I stand in the world. How does one learn to deal with rejection when they’re not really rejected? I apply to jobs and companies hope I will just forget I ever applied. You expect me to want to devote my soul to you, but you don’t have enough respect for me to tell me my soul isn’t a good fit? What a sadomasochistic relationship this employer-employee relationship has become.
You see, alcohol always knew how to deal with these situations. He’d encourage me to say Fuck them and write the cruelest cover letter I could. If you’re not gonna hear back from them, it may as well be because you told them to shove barb-wired baseball bats up their asses rather than you telling them the same bullshit five hundred other people also said. Make a goddamn lasting impression, they say.