I have been silent for the simple reason that for a while, it felt as if my whole world fell apart. After working up the courage to confide to a good friend, patting myself on the back for my outstanding bravery for this huge accomplishment, and then being kicked in the face for my efforts when the friend declared, in dripping venom, that I should not be offering advice when my life sucks, so I should just rather shut up and sit in a corner.
Those were off course not her exact words, but you get the gist. Well, I felt her words as if she physically hit me and I felt out of breath for days. I cried on and off for 3 weeks before the anger kicked in. Sadly, during the three weeks of mourning, an idiotic colleague, whom I don’t care enough about to dislike or like, tells me that she believes that I can handle it when she tells me that she never liked me. Random much?
We’ve been working together for years, we get on fine, have never had problems, she just didn’t really EXIST for me, if you know what I mean? She was there, and she was nice, but she wasn’t really THERE. I barely know her. So wtf? Right? What on Earth did I do to her to deserve her enmity? And if, the 40% of the world that I KNOW dislikes me, and the 50% of the world that I believe couldn’t care enough to dislike or like me also apparently dislikes me, and the 10% of the world that are my friends and despise me enough to betray and humiliate me publicly, what the hell am I still doing here?
Well, that is exactly how I felt when I wrote this letter. I didn’t want to publish it, but then decided I would. Because, you know, this is where I was during my silence. I have recently learned that despite the fact that the rest of humanity can’t reconcile who I am with how pathetically fake and useless they are as a species, I am ok with it. I am interested in ancient Egypt, I love sci-fi, I love fantasy, I write, I paint badly; I can’t play a musical instrument, well, I can play… I just do it very very badly. I listen to Elvis and to Dropkick Murphy’s and think Justin Bieber is lame, I like reading and generally hate the movies of the books afterward because they (pardon the French folks) FUCK IT UP. I cry at weddings (but only when the bride walks down the aisle) and find the wedding service dull and pretentious. I am polite to everyone, whether I like you or not, because I dislike rudeness.
I sing loudly and the world shakes because my voice is that bad. I believe strongly, have strange and random beliefs that I never push down on others, I can’t be converted to your faith, but respect you all the same. I like all these parts of me. This is who I am, and if I do not conform to what you perceive I should be, well, sorry, I’d rather be me than whatever you’re supposed to be.
So hate me, I don’t care, I will still just not care enough about you to hate or love you. That is who I am. If you don’t like it, well, there’s simply nothing I can do about that. I have always found my peace in writing, reading and following my dreams. I’ve never needed you or whatever your current idea of perfection is. I am 10 kg overweight, but you know, after living my entire life as skin and bone, I finally like my body, if you want to be a stick figure or a whale, I generally don’t care. Yes, I’m almost chubby. AT LAST. So leave me the fuck alone. If you hate my taste in music, don’t hang around where you can listen to it. If you hate my writing, don’t read it. If you think my dress sense is whacked, yeah well, it is kinda, but I like it, so there. I don’t like make up much, but you know what, I don’t need to paint myself to be who I am. Sometimes I’ll throw on some green eyeshadow and green highlights in my hair, other times I’ll hang out in my PJ’s the whole day.
If you’ve never liked me anyway, I have nothing to lose by being who I want to be, and everything to gain. I like me. I like chubby crazy wild and whacky me, and this letter… this letter is the last time that you will ever kick me while I’m down, bringing my existence as a person into question when I really should have made peace with that a long time ago.
It should please you greatly to hear that your hard work has paid off. I’m as wrecked a human being as you could ever hope to find. I’m not half the mother myself that I ever hoped to be, and yet, I’m far better than you yourself ever were.
I’m married to an amazing man who is mostly kind and brilliantly funny, and incredibly attractive to boot, but can still not find acceptance from him for my clumsy nature and irrepressible enthusiasm. He is far too reserved a man to ever live with someone half as wild as me. Yet he perseveres, and I’m left humbled and a little ashamed for not attempting to curb my outrageousness. Truth be told though, my wild nature is an attempt to prevent myself from ever turning into a stuck up snob like you. I’d rather sing at the top of my voice in the pouring rain than sit behind a canvas because it is expected of me. I tried that, and I have no artistic talent, remember? I’m the family Picasso. We all remember well how little you thought of that painter. No, Van Gogh was everything, if only I had a smidgeon of his greatness.
An inability to trust my fellow man has left me with few to none friendships, and the few I have is generally built on reserved behavior and perfect poise. The fun and outrageous crowd I love to surround myself with are actually far too frivolous to truly understand the precarious balance I live upon; the knife’s edge of sanity. Either I am outrageous and wild, or dignified and solicitous. Truly, I have no idea where I belong. I question daily my motivation for my silly joy of life, my reckless and wild crazy love of loud and boisterous music and dancing, when I have in equal measure this incredible sense of propriety. I no longer know.
It would further please you to hear that the one instance that I trusted a friend with a personal problem, I was betrayed and humiliated publicly, my sorrow thrown into the face of those closest to me and my value as a human being, friend and advisor completely debased, with none to raise a word of honor or defense. I have finally learnt the hardest lesson of all, the one you were trying so hard to force into my psyche. I am not worthy of friends. I am not worthy of love and above all, should never have existed. I believe you now. I will never make the same mistake again. I am a failure at motherhood, a failure at being a wife and a failure at being a friend. Worthless and unwanted. Now that I have acknowledged your infinite power over my existence, I would very much like for your ghost to stop haunting me, stop dogging my steps, and stop whispering your demotivating dribble. I truly, finally, irrevocably, believe.