Sometimes life is hard to handle

If there are a few things I have learned that I cannot handle, they are these:

1. Confrontation where I have done wrong or have been caught doing something wrong. I can escape a person's presence, but confrontations where I am in the wrong dwell on my mind for days, even weeks. I don't know if I try to rationalize it or what, but I just can't stop thinking about it and how the certain person feels about me now. Which leads to number two.

2. People disliking me. I hate the feeling when a friend suddenly stops talking to you or you're ignored because of some reason, your fault or not. I start disliking myself and I get down on myself, wondering why in the world I can't be liked, and I get really depressed. And after awhile, if nothing changes, then I can get back up, but I've taken a blow to the ego.

3. Immense amounts of praise/compliments. I especially don't receive compliments very well. I get awkward and I don't know how to act except to turn the compliment back to the giver, though secretly my ego blows up. I try to keep myself from getting too arrogant, but sometimes it's inevitable, and then I'm a danger to myself. That's when I know a hard failure is in my future.

4. Failure. I'm sure everyone struggles when they've failed, and I'm one of those who takes failure hard. Stems from childhood trauma; you know, the usual.

5. Disappointing someone. I can kill myself over that, and I've beaten myself up over and over for disappointing people. I hate doing it, and I hate it when it's done to me, although I can handle that a little bit better.

Response

Sir Walter Raleigh: The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd

If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb,
The rest complain of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields,
To wayward winter rechkoning yields,
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy poesies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten;
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move,
To come to thee, and be thy love.

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls,
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant poesies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle,
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs,
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing,
For they delight each May morning,
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

-Christopher Marlowe