Yesterday, reading “in-your-Facebook” posts about jerks and persecutors started to sound like, “You’re so bad, but I’m such a good, vindictive victim.”
After listening for a while to a popular artist sing about the men who disappointed her, the lyrics began to sound like, “I’m a victim. I’m such a victim. I can’t help it. It’s so sad, but I’m a victim.”
Then, chatter in a public place began sounding like an oh-so-pathetic broken record of he said, and she did, and they shouldn’t, and we so deserve better than this, followed by a loud chorus of “I’m-a-victim.”
I was bored, knowing the chorus well, because I was one; a poor-me victim, angry at anyone who said so…until I realized that bad things happen to everyone but some of them decide to quit thinking about it and take charge of their own happiness.
(Before Paulo Coelho was a successful author, among other unfortunate experiences, he was institutionalized three times, kidnapped, and held captive by insurgents.)