My reaction to Michael Jackson's death

For the first few days, I thought the fans and the media were going overboard. That it was crazy what they were doing. Well, it was, but that isn't the point I want to make.

My point:  why is it that I felt nothing?

Truth be told, the man clearly had no impact in my life: not positive nor negative. I like a couple of his songs: The dancing machine & Ben, but that's it. Spanish singers never heard-of in North America make me weep for a second when they die, but not Michael Jackson.

It took me three or four days to understand that the fans were hurting because they loved him, because his music did something for them, because good or evil, the man had an impact in their lives. And that the media was just giving the public what they wanted.

Two aspects of my ailing mental health came into play: (1) my attachment disorder, and (2) my inability to tolerate fault in myself or others. The two are quite possibly interrelated.

I am attachment disordered. Because I never did experience a loving relationship with my mother or my siblings, I rarely become attached to anyone to the point of crying when they leave or die. If you piss me off, I'll just forget about you and move on. And while that is good for handling abusive situations, it is really bad in the sense that I might as well be a robot, going through life doing staff factually and keeping my feelings at bay.

The worst part of being that way is that I suspect I do hurt when I leave people or they leave me. It is just that the pain is so buried inside that I can't feel it. I experience it, perhaps, as self-hatred or as a generalized feeling of "I don't like anyone -- no one likes me -- why the hell do I have to live in such a hostile world -- might as well just put myself out of my misery."

So, in a way, I wish I were like Michael Jackson's fans. At least they can experience and express their feelings. They aren't like me, this Terminator-like person who can end any relationship and keep going as if nothing happened.

The other problem is the inability to accept human shortcomings.

It goes like this: I meet a person and like them for a while, but the moment they do something I strongly disagree with, disapprove of, or just dislike, I drop them and move on.

Michael Jackson did many things that can make me drop a person from my fav list: heavy emphasis on physical appearance, a weird way of speaking, rejection of his own race by trying to become white, outrageous attire, child molestation rumors, buying kids so he could have children, living beyond his means, using drugs, etc, etc.

He just wasn't my kind of pal, was he?

But, does it follow that I would have to close my ears and stop appreciating his good music or my eyes and stop enjoying his dancing? Does it follow?

Why can't I appreciate a person with short comings and all? Wouldn't it be nice if I could look at what's positive in a person and see their faults as water under the bridge?

Of course I know where such bad habit comes from: you guessed it, my mother. 

We could clean the house spotless and instead of saying, "Great job, girls. I'm so thankful you took time to clean the house." She would say, "You forgot to sweep under the sofa," and walk away dismissively. 

As you can imagine, siblings and I followed suit. If a brother or sister came to me bragging of a romantic conquest or a good job at whatever, I would say something like, "Does she know that your grades aren't very good?"

If I came home happy I got an A at school, someone had to say, "Too bad you're so ugly."

If just seemed like, in my household, anything short of absolutely perfect was abominable. Of course nowadays, I not only reject other people, I mainly reject myself.

For instance, the only thing I dislike about traveling is that when Husband and I go shopping,  I see us on store windows. He looks really good, if you ask me. But I see an out-of-shape, short woman with fat arms on the glass and wonder why the heck he stays with me.  It just seems that, in my mind, men only love skinny, curvy, tall, pretty women. A little voice tells me that Husband settled for me. "He was too shy to ask anyone else out and you were easy for him."

 

As a Christian, many a time I prayed God would help me accept fault in others and in myself. But my prayer was never answered. Also, I've been in therapy for countless years, yet I still seem to keep my no-fault policy to relationships, and I hate it.

I wish there were a potion I could take at night that would make me wake up accepting of others' and of my own mistakes and shortcomings.

As it turns out, Michael Jackson finally did have an impact on me, with his death. Perhaps one way or another, his notoriety which led to the profound pain he had to appease with prescription drugs did help many people.  He did, apparently, give those of his race new heights to aspire to and an ambassador in a mostly white performance world. 

Maybe he will help me see that being less than perfect is a fact of life and that having faults is 100% better than seeking perfection. Cross your fingers.