Wallowing In Self Pity Novels & Stories

So teeth grinded together, fists clenched, adrenaline pumping through my veins, I walk off like a coward, back to my truck, while the man I despise most in the world–the man who signs my paychecks–looks at her like she’s his. “You’re pathetic,”I growl at myself, driving my fist into my thigh. The pain distracts me, but only for a moment. Besides, I deserve it. “You’re a miserable little fool. Can’t even go out and get the woman you want. What the hell is wrong with you?” The sun is down. I’ve been sitting in my chair at the kitchen table since I got back from the estate, wallowing in misery and self-pity like an absolute nothing of a man.

I directed the driver to my apartment, my old home that had been abandoned for months. As the car began to move, I sank back into the seat, staring out at the streets that blurred past. Each passing building was a reminder of how far I had fallen. From royalty to nothing, from a palace to an empty shell of an apartment. My heart twisted with self-pity. I felt so small, so weak, so utterly sorry for myself.

I muttered as I felt all my emotions just leave me, tears glistening on my cheeks as I pitied myself once again. "I understand if you still think I am selfish. I understand if you never want to speak to me again. I understand if you want to leave and cut all ties with me. I understand if you don't want me to be in your life anymore," I whispered brokenly, feeling myself become lost in a void of darkness. I was pathetic.

he thought, as he pushed himself up to a seated position on the floor and leaned against the wall. Deep frustration bubbled up in his stomach. And below that, despair tried to creep in, but he was too frustrated to let it make its appearance. Despair would have its chance to rear its ugly head when he was alone later that night. Yeah, that's when I can fully feel bad for myself, he thought, still wincing in pain. When I'm hungry and it hurts too much to make it to the microwave, so I just drink protein shakes instead. That'll be a great time for self-loathing. The same damn thing I've been doing every night for two weeks now.

I have never felt so much pain in my life, the fact that he knows so well that his wife was okay and he kept giving me those glances was very bad. The sun had risen and my alarm had gone off, I had nothing to do, my schedules were cleared and all I had to do was wake up, have breakfast and go back to bed, if I got bored I could watch a movie. I sat up on the bed and thought of my miserable life for a while. It was that bad. I needed no mirror to see my swollen eyes, I could feel it already, I stood from the bed tired and I briskly walked into my walked in closed wallowing in self pity and pain.

For a moment, all I wanted to do was curl up and cry, to let the weight of the world crush me into oblivion. But Elena's words echoed in my mind, a persistent reminder that I had a choice. I could wallow in self-pity or I could rise and face the challenges ahead. I took a deep breath, feeling the fabric of the chemise cling to my damp skin. With trembling hands, I pulled the cover over me, wrapping myself in the soft embrace of luxury. As I lay there, my thoughts swirling, the exhaustion of the day finally caught up to me, and my eyes grew heavy.

"Nevermind.." Yes, I am too coward. I am sorry if I failed myself.

I'm still indescribably frustrated that there is not a damn thing I can do about Lance’s conflicted feelings about me. It's a bad habit, this wallowing. I know I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. But since I already opened the door to today's pity party, I'm happy to waltz right into the revelry again. Besides, it isn't as if I'm in wolf form. No one can read my mind when I'm just a girl.

I wondered if I'd ever live a normal life where my days weren't defined by heartache. Jenny dragged me out to random clubs, friends' houses, anywhere she could think of to get me in front of other people, so I wasn't wallowing in self-pity. I had succumbed to several pity parties in the last couple weeks, but I told myself it was justified. All of it had been shitty, and if I wanted to wallow, I would allow myself to wallow-for a couple days, not indefinitely. My psychiatrist had given me a free pass to allow the emotion to escape in whatever format that took shape...so I had.

Frustrated and downcasted, I pull it out and smash it on the wall, shattering it into a million pieces. Tears trickle down my eyes as the feeling of 'why am I still mateless by this time' engulf me. Everyone is happy with their mates, but I'm right here, hoping and wallowing in self pity, making use of different kinds of vibrators and dildos to calm my nerves; pleasures that I'm supposed to be enjoying from my Kate. What kind of life is this? This feeling is frustrating me terribly, and I don't think I can handle it anymore… Even Jayson's dick isn't satisfying me as before. I'm just so sick of this!