Okay so some college basketball player recently and horrifically broke his leg. I’ve broken my leg several times, and though it wasn’t nearly as painful as his must have been, nor was it televised, it still hurt very much. This guy is getting a lot of deserved sympathy. Will he be able to play again? He had a very promising future. I actually have no idea. He could have been the worst player of all time. I have no idea.
I think my point for this new pointless post is that in order to gain sympathy, you have to be really good at something. When I broke my foot in junior high by landing funny on my sandal, the only attention I got was from my friend who laughed at me as I limped back into his apartment and cried. Sports radio stations did not discuss my debilitating injury, nor was I on the front page of cnn.com. However, the next day at school, I did gain some sympathy from some of my female classmates until I noticed them looking at my Hershey’s bar in my hand. I’m not man candy! This chocolate is my last bastion of happiness that I’m desperately clinging to until I can lock myself in my room and glue myself to the television.
This theory remained constant throughout adulthood. Sympathy is only evoked if you have other redeeming qualities, and I can’t always carry around a Hershey’s bar. I’m not made of money. Actually no, that’s completely wrong. Most women have hated me, despite any unfortunate circumstances that have come my way. It wasn’t until I met my fiancée that I realized that sympathy is not a tool to use for self-esteem. Instead it is a mutual thing to help both people realize not just their codependence but also their fusion as a coherent whole.