Like everyone and their grandma, I read the new Hyperbole and a Half.
The dead fish analogy was spot on. This line really resonated with me: The absurdity of working so hard to continue doing something you don't like can be overwhelming. I’m glad (or at least, I can recognize that it’s a good thing) that Allie has come to a better place in her life. Yay.
And yet, I still feel like utter shit after reading the post.
There’s that narrative: the one about getting better, and how it definitely will happen someday with rainbows and confetti, with no mention of years and near lifetimes that can go by with no corn-under-the-refrigerator moment. Or those moments that are truncated before they hardly get off the ground.
What happens when one goes from a crying phase right back to staring down the dark corridor? What happens when it’s not only the fish that die, but also the dog? What happens when people never talk to you about the fish or dog, because they never knew you once had pets? What then?
At this point, I’m not sure I even remember what my fish were. I wish this were an acceptable state of be-ing, because there’s no point in trying to revive dead fish that are so dead all that is left of them are the bones.