Apparently I have an easy life, because something petty happened to me recently and I broke down crying and told my boyfriend I wanted to jump off a bridge. I’m almost too embarrassed to tell you about it, because then you’ll think I’m a spoiled, arrogant, delusional fool in need of a reality check. OK, I’M A SPOILED ARROGANT DELUSIONAL FOOL IN NEED OF A REALITY CHECK. Comrades, I have officially been internet trolled, and it doesn’t feel very good.
Two days ago, this article of mine was published on Thought Catalog, and with the flushed enthusiasm of youth, I scrolled down to the comments section, hungry for praise. Any powerful female celebrity could have told me that that was a huge mistake: never read internet comments, people! My article was called “atrocious” and other adjectives that I can’t remember because I WILL NEVER LOOK AT THAT HORRIBLE COMMENTS SECTION AGAIN. The small silver lining is that I’m pretty sure all the insults were from people who took the article literally (which blows my mind: you think I’m serious when I say that one of the 10 Places You Must Go Before You Die is PASTA WITH PARMESAN? DID YOUR BRAIN FALL OUT?). But that didn’t lessen the sting.
I guess it’s human nature to be upset by negative feedback, and no one likes to hear that their BRILLIANT jokes are ATROCIOUS, but I’m still ashamed at myself for sobbing my eyes out and not laughing all the way to the bank with a gin martini in one hand and my leopard-print Louboutins dangling from the other because I’m way too cool to actually wear shoes during the daytime I just prance around like I don’t give a–hold on, this image is misleading, I didn’t actually get paid for the article. EXCEPT IN INSULTS.
To rub salt in the wound, so to speak, these comments came on the tail-end of a day that featured a lengthy emotional email exchange with a close relative, the revealing of a secret to several friends, and general sleep-deprivation. The result? Tori in the Evening: Sulky Misunderstood Self-Pitying Edition. Shockingly, though, my evening turned out to be really awesome. Why? BECAUSE I SULKED RIGHT.
Has the world beaten you down lately, beloved Freudian figment of my imagination? Here’s how you deal, baby. Here’s how you pick up your debit card and deal.
1. Get some sympathy.
Who cares how petty your grievances are? No one likes to feel alone. Make your friends take your side. You’ll feel much better.
2. Get some perspective.
Are your loved ones in danger? Are you locked in a serial killer’s basement? Do you have any limbs missing? Is the apocalypse currently taking place? No? You’re basically fine then. I’ve found that it helps to lecture yourself until a droplet of perspective seeps into your stubborn little brain, something along the lines of This means nothing in the grand scheme of things, you’re not going to care about this in the morning, PUT DOWN THE SHOTGUN, TORI, PUT IT DOWN RIGHT NOW, STOP TRYING TO DROWN THAT KITTEN!
3. Then get some alcohol.
Dash to the nearest grocery store, preferably while wearing short-shorts and riding your bike super-fast down hills while blasting Michael Jackson. Aesthetic is everything, even in your darkest hour.
4. And also get some other delicious things.
5. Clutching at your only true friend (A CHOCOLATE BAR), allow yourself to genuinely feel.
6. Crawl into bed, duh. Turn on a feel-good art-house flick.
Gnawing at your chocolate bar like a mouse, console yourself with the idea that no matter how low you sink, you will never be the author of Twilight, nor will you be incriminated in the creation of the awful gene pool that resulted in Kristen Stewart’s acting abilities. Voila! Things are looking up already.