Seven Thousand Three Hundred and Fifty Dollars

$7350. That's the price to be paid, apparently, for self-loathing.

I was talking to Nick the other day. He was bitter, more even than usual, and angry.

"I just wrote a cheque to the lawyer," he said. "Seventy-three fifty. And I don't mean seventy-three dollars and fifty cents."

He slapped his hand hard against the table and let loose a stream of profanity that would make a sailor blush.

"... and it's all thanks to that c*** I married."

I observed him as he thrashed about, consumed by his anger and his hatred toward a woman he once loved. The woman he married twenty-five years ago. The mother of his children.

"You didn't have to marry her, Nick," I suggested softly. "Maybe that was a mistake, your mistake. Maybe you're angry at yourself."

But he was in no mood to listen to reason. He was determined to continue his rant in a bid to validate his feelings.

"The bitch was pregnant," he spat. (Oh how that term makes my skin crawl, Ms J) "She was pregnant and so I did the right thing. I married her. I worked my arse off for twenty-four years so we could have nice things and now she gets to keep everything while I get sweet fuck all. They're all bitches, every fucking one of them."

Nick is a handsome man, Ms J. He has lots of thick, dark hair, a smooth complexion, strong jaw, flat stomach. I've always been a little envious, to be honest with you. But in that moment, as I watched him curse and bang the table, he was not attractive in the least. He was ugly. His language was ugly, his gestures were ugly and his attitude was ugly. And while I was repulsed by his behaviour, I felt a great compassion for him. I had behaved in the exact same manner after Donna threw me out. It's a wonder I had any friends at all then.

"So is that the end of it?" I asked. "Is that the price of a divorce nowadays?"

Nick looked at me then and for a minute returned to the real world. He actually appeared amused at the question.

"Divorce?" he said. "No this has nothing to do with the divorce. That's a different lawyer. This is the drunk driving charge I'm trying to beat. It hasn't even gone to trial yet. I'll definitely lose my licence for a year and my insurance premiums will probably triple. I just hope it doesn't cost me my job."

So here is a man, Ms J, who is reasonably intelligent, quite handsome and, according to him, "a fairly religious guy". Yet he found himself in a bad spot and rather than look for a way out, he's chosen to engage in self-destructive behaviour to make things worse. I just don't understand it. I can't imagine ever despising myself so much that I would sabotage my Life and make things more difficult than they already are. Sometimes, it seems, we just can't hurt enough.

I wish there were some way to show my friend that he is still loved. Just because he's lost Sue, it doesn't mean no one loves him. It doesn't mean he has no one to love. All is not lost. God loves him. So do his family and a few (very few) friends. And he has himself to love. In the end, that's the most important of all.

Why is that such an elusive and difficult concept, Ms Journal? Why don't we consider the importance of Self Love? Can we not make a clear distinction between Self Love and selfishness? Selfishness is putting your needs ahead of others. Any ten-year-old understands that. But Self Love speaks of honouring yourself, of seeing your own true value and of being gentle and forgiving of your Self when you make mistakes.

Some people can grasp the concept. Those are the fortunate few. And right now, Nick is not among them.

Seven Thousand Three Hundred and Fifty Dollars, Ms J.

I'm afraid that if he doesn't soon gain a sense of self worth, it'll be just another in a never-ending series of installments Nick will pay to satisfy Satan's hungry loan sharks.

God help him.

***