I haven’t written in a while. …
To be blunt, I’ve been encountering alot of Universal Resistance — what-the-hell-ever I mean by that. Personally, I think it could also be called Asshole Resistance. I’m still pondering why the Universe populated my particular corner with so many assholes. Probably it’s ultimately my doing in some cosmic way; and I mean that with all self-respect for my recent epiphany into the matter, but that’s another post.
As I said, I haven’t written in a while …
My departure from the blog started when I encountered the most notable resistance in response to my Christmas post, Christmas List for When Christmas Hurts. It came in the form of an email from a family member who took my post quite personally – and not in a good way. She let me know it. She dutifully instructed me on how the hypothetical and real subjects of the post, including me, should have felt and thought – about her.
Although, I must admit, said letter-writer relation does not qualify as an asshole. I must point that out.
If you’ve read that post, you’ll know that there were layers of sad and tragic irony in that one email that I not to explore. I’m still thinking that was a good move in the long-term.
There were other bits of Resistance – to my blog, to my posts, to my writing, to my very goals in life. Yay! Again: I’d managed to accumulate a disproportionate number of assholes in my little corner of the world.
There was so much resistance to everything I believed or thought or felt that I was beginning to wonder if I really was a native of Planet Earth, or just planted here as an experiment in psychological adaptation. Clearly, I wasn’t getting whatever “they” understood and “they” certainly weren’t getting me. Maybe I was really a native of another planet who’d been brainwashed into believing deluded concepts such as empathy, compassion, honesty, justice. The experimental goal was to find out how long it took to adapt to life here, where none of that seemed to apply, and if such an adaptation were even were possible.
Note to lab workers: it may not be possible. Come get me.
Then something happened. That one post that my family member(s) found so objectionable? Objectionable enough to write and tell me what people should be thinking, and what people should be feeling? Well, it started getting hits. In May … June … July.
It’s reaching people.
And I want to thank those people. I want to thank you so very much. You inspired me.
I didn’t write that post to be like-bait or click-bait. I wanted it to be connection-bait: a connection between strangers who can only share that rare and often solitary experience of pain across the connection of the internet. In any other age we would have been isolated, and confused by the absence of any confirmation of our experience.
I was hurting in a fundamental and visceral way that I knew no one around me could or would understand, and I had hoped that others were still in the same predicament. Perhaps they would also know what I knew, and hear that someone understood, and someone accepted our experience as, well, inviolate – deserving of respect, tenderness, privacy. Perhaps they could hear that nothing was wrong with us – not really – above the noise of people telling them what to think, what to feel, to make the holidays nice for themselves, not us. All from people who could never envision or even just accept our experiences, our needs – people who were sometimes too self-absorbed to try.
Hopefully what all of us – we, products of tragedy – needed was to find out we weren’t alone.
And the likes I’ve gotten have told me that we’re not.
So, I’m sort of back.
Oh, and for those relatives who want to troll my blog then tell me how wrong I am to write the truth?