I despise this coping mechanism. In the middle of any crisis, small or large, someone will invariably tell you that things could be worse. Hell, I’ve used it myself, I know. It is meant to bring comfort and sometimes it does but mostly, it fucking doesn’t.

Of course things could be worse. Absolutely everything, short of the end of the world, has an even worse version.

Sure, losing a toe is worse than the stubbed toe that has me bent over and cussing in the middle of the night but does imagining that make my toe hurt any less?

Burnt food is better than no food but is my chicken any more palatable if I worry about starving people in Africa?

Accidentally erasing a 15 year old recording of my children’s recorded answering machine message is better than either of them having an incurable disease but will I ever hear those baby voices again?

If I discover my child doing something I thought I talked myself blue in the face lecturing against, I find fleeting comfort in thinking it could be worse. But, Jesus, that becomes quickly tiresome … especially when the next worse thing inevitably does come up.

When faced with something that tests my strength and will, people with the absolute best intentions try to put it into perspective by suggesting even more vile endings. Sometimes it becomes a touchstone that grounds the spiraling world into a more manageable trajectory. However, I find, more often than not, that it just irritates the fuck out of me.

OF COURSE IT COULD BE WORSE!

I don’t care that it could be worse! I care very specifically about the current situation, not the millions of speculative, fantasy scenarios.

I had someone tell me that my problem was a 4 (out of 10) in the grand scheme of things: First of all, fuck you very much. Second of all, for someone who has only dealt with 1s or 2s, a 4 feels like a 9. Third of all, fuck off.

Yes, it could be worse. I don’t care. It does nothing to lessen the problem currently at hand.

I’m willing to bet someone told the wife of the BTK Killer that it could be worse — that she should consider herself lucky that her husband didn’t bind, torture, or kill her. Yes, I guess that’s certainly one way to look as her “lucky” life. How did that, in any way, make discovering that she was unknowingly married to a murderer any less horrifying? It fucking didn’t.

So, unless there is an asteroid aimed straight at my head, shut the fuck up about the fact that things could be worse. I’m not dealing with THAT, I’m dealing with THIS. THAT doesn’t matter because it may or may not even happen. I’m only concerned that THIS is happening at this very fucking moment.

My best friend said that I become laser focused when I’m angry. She didn’t mean that in a good way. Maybe that’s why I get so irritated by any half assed attempts to distract me with stupid made up shit. I guess most people would welcome the diversion of worse scenarios. I do not.

I’m not saying that the worst case scenario has never helped me. It has but it depends on the issue. If I’m sad, I’m more inclined to listen to someone describing something more sorrowful. When stressed, I don’t mind hearing about things infinitely more stressful. But, when I’m angry, do not, I repeat, DO NOT tell me about things that would make me even more furious.

While I suppose it’s helpful to put things into perspective by comparison, I’m too much of a realist to be distracted by things that will most likely not occur. And, when the worse scenario does happen, okay – adjust and deal with it but, please don’t tell me it could be worse — again.