As something of a rather negative person myself (I try to not be that way,) negative people often are subconsciously looking for someone to lift them up. Which is, of course, exhausting to the person whose “job” it is to do the lifting-up, and why few people really like or want to be around a negative person.
…specially when they refuse to be lifted.
I guess a case of negative person we’ve all encountered is those posters who ask for advice and then reply, to each and every piece received, that “it won’t work!” Because it’s a Thursday or because it’s not, because they’re female or because they’re not, because the moon is out or because it’s not, nothing will ever work!
That’s one thing I’ll give myself… I’ll try just about anything to go for a better change in life. Sr. Weasel is the same way. I’m always like, ‘‘Hey, I’ve been thinking, we could make X process more efficient if we both got into the habit of doing Y.’’ And then we do it.
(Current challenge: Sorting through all our freakin’ mail.)
My mother… (I know) It’s like she’s incapable of having an experience with the family without creating some kind of negative energy drama. She’d always leave pissed off about something totally inconsequential as evidence of ‘‘disrespect’’ or people not caring about her feelings or blah blah blah. GAH it was exhausting. The last time she visited my Grandma she felt ill the whole time but she didn’t tell my Grandmother, so she was mad at my Grandmother for not caring about the illness my Grandmother didn’t know she had, and then when my Grandmother offered pain medicine she just said ‘no’ and sulked and oh, my family doesn’t care about me blah blah blah. Or even the fact that she’s fixated on this paranoid notion that when her brother died (3 or 4 years ago) she was already on a train headed to our state. She is convinced there was this family conspiracy to hide the truth just to force her to go up there, and then she didn’t want to be with her family to deal with his death. And she was angry that nobody told her about his death while she was alone on the train. She’s grilled me so many times about this - where was I? Who called me first? Etc. This is what I’m missing by not having her in my life.
When I’m just with my Aunt and Grandma, things are so chill. We just want to have fun, laugh, joke around, be silly. It’s so drama free. We want peace, and that’s what we give each other. I think my mother is fundamentally incapable of knowing peace.
So I may feel down sometimes, but I try not to spread the misery.
I’m outwardly pessimistic, it’s a defense mechanism, so that’s one kind of negativity. I also see everything as imperfect and look for ways to improve it, so there’s more negativity.
About what? The writing thing? I don’t remember. But I was talking to her about it years later, after they divorced (surprise, surprise) and she told me when they were young, she was musing about becoming a nurse, and he was similarly discouraging. “Oh, you won’t like it, you’ll have to wipe people’s butts, get blood on you, be around old disgusting sick coughing puking people,” etc.
No. I still think about it, though. Once, 9 years ago, I wrote a long email to a professional socio-political blogger I used to follow, who had had writings published in print as well, touched off by some thoughts on a blog post of his. He edited and reformatted it as an essay and posted it on his blog, calling it exceptionally interesting and well-written, and in a personal email to me, encouraged me to submit it to a magazine for publication, and asked me if I was a professional writer because I write so well. That was pretty encouraging. But I was about to start medical school, and then there was residency, and now it’s 9 years later. Maybe I’ll PM Spice Weasel and finally make an effort at it. But one thing I get down about now is that I don’t spontaneously get story ideas anymore, the way I did in high school as mentioned upthread. That probably hasn’t happened since my twenties, and I fear that age has leached the creativity out of me.
It’s become obvious to me what that factor is in my father’s life, and yeah, it was an event over 60 years ago: the death of his own father. My paternal grandfather died of a sudden illness when my father was 5, and by comments he’s made in recent years, I surmise he’s gone through his whole life bitter about the loss of his father. It’s like he thinks God/fate/the universe/whatever screwed him over by taking his father from him and he’s determined to be miserable about it forever.
OK I think this is just about under the OP’s idea of negative people:
People who fret about everything.
Like my ex-GF…if she found out some girl she knew at college is now earning more money than her, she would go on and on about it for days or even weeks and be annoyed at me if I didn’t seem equally upset. When of course the inner me was screaming WHO GIVES A SHIT?!
But if it wasn’t that it would be something else. A fretful state is just the norm for some people.
I don’t know too many negative people, but I am tempted to just agree with them:
Negative person: “Man, I got fired!”
Me: “Bugger”
NP: “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be able to get work, I’m too old.”
Me: “I agree, things are looking bleak for you.”
NP: “Life just sucks”
Me: “Well, yeah, it certainly sucks for you, my life is good, but if I was you I’d just be really miserable.”
Of course I don’t do this because I’d only do it if I didn’t like them, and if I didn’t like them I probably wouldn’t be talking to them in the first place.
One issue with negative people is when the negative person is your internal monologue. I’m a positive person outwardly, but my internal monologue is negative and is often talking myself out of doing things.
“Don’t bother riding your bike today, it’s cold outside and it might rain. Yes you are overweight but you can ride tomorrow or maybe just have carrots for dinner, anyway, you are too fat to be seen in public in lycra, best to just stay home.”
I think I’m positive around other people because their presence tends to shut my internal monologue down. It’s reflecting on the conversation, choosing things to talk about, and listening to the other person, so it doesn’t have time to make me feel like crap.
My father described a person he knew at church. “He always looks at life negatively. When he dies and finds the streets of heaven are paved with gold, he will probably claim the bricks are just gold-plated.”
They are legion in Thailand, in the form of a certain type of Westerner. If you spend any time in the bars at all – naughty nightlife bars or just regular pubs, it doesn’t matter – you will encounter some. Jesus, but they’re irritating. There was this one Texan at one of the newspapers I was at who hated any- and everything, and he lost no time in detailing his long list to you in excruciating detail. He was, and no doubt still is, an alcoholic who I’m sure is still wondering why only other alcoholics would socialize with him. (It goes without saying he was a far-right-wing Republican. He’s one of the ones who left America because Obama was president. Or so he claims, but most people think it was so he could drink and whore around the clock.)
Everybody has bad days, but some people seem to enjoy wallowing in misery. I’m fine with it so long as they don’t insist I have to get in the pond too.
Pfaugh, one of the most famous writers in history didn’t get published until he was 42 (youthful poems had been published in the time’s equivalent of photocopied fanzines). While he did set a pretty high bar, you do write good (ay! No hitting!). It’s not necessary to write the next great american novel, but it may be good to “get rid of that thorn”. I had a few youthful thorns that I eventually was able to get rid of and man, it’s the kind of thing that you don’t realize how much it bothers you until it’s out.
Looks both ways Let me tell you a secret…
[spoiler]I wrote for a MUD, a text-based game, for several years. Some of the stuff that had the Americans and the Russians drooling over my creativity was material from Spanish legends which I’ve known my whole life but which they had never heard of.
There are no new stories, but there are new ways of telling them.[/spoiler]
I hate negativity!
I saw an old car with beautiful script across the back window that read, “FUCK THE HATERS”.
Sounds like Tom from the Showdown. American women blah blah blah. Government blah blah blah. Sheeple blah blah blah.
He and his like-minded friends used to sit out on the bar patio and blather on and on and on about how everything was messed up and how people didn’t understand what was REALLY going on… Alex Jones is god… etc. I called them the Insane Ass Clown Posse.
He left for Thailand and the air got sweeter.
We’re gonna stamp out hate
Sock it in the eye
Shoot it in the stomach yelling, die, die, die!
We’ll pull its insides out
And look at look at what it ate
We’re gonna stamp out hate.
– Mad Show, 1966, lyrics by Stephen Sondheim
My mother was extremely negative, but only about me. She pressed into my head every day that I was no good, could do nothing right, and would amount to nothing. Everything that went wrong was my fault. If I got an A in school, I must have cheated. If someone liked me, they were absolutely the worst person on the planet.
The only good thing she ever did was never show me one day of love or positive feelings. As soon as I realized it was her problem, I started getting better,
It sounds as if we had the same mother. I was destined to be a failure in her eyes simply because no child of hers could possibly be a success. But mine was negative about more than just me and generally shunned by the neighbors as a result. She was “that crazy neighbor lady.”