On Love, Anger, and Being Mean

Before telling the stories of being trolled, my phone hacked, being watched in my home, followed everywhere I go, friends and family told I’m someone I’m not (a murderer, a liar, a floozy, bipolar, a thief, etc.), and being shut out of a 30-year career - before those stories - an admission: I get angry. I get angry when my phone is hacked and my private conversations and texts are shared with the public. I get angry when I am watched, judged, criticized, and portrayed as a villain in the privacy of my own home. I get angry when everything I do in the privacy of my own home is shared with the public. I get angry when my closest friend confronts me as being a liar and someone who would cause intentional harm to another when I know (and he does to, frankly) that I am not. I could go on. You get the gist.

I get a lot of things when the above insanity ensues, what used to be thought of as the surreal, the only-in-the-movies kind of a thing. I get sad, I get numb and zombie like, I get hurt, I get disappointed, I get passionate about expressing who I truly am warts and all. I even get suicidal. When all you had is stolen with lies and speculation, every single relationship, everything you worked for, there is nothing left to live for - life isn’t about loving yourself, despite the idiotic advice of others - it’s about both loving yourself and sharing that love with, and for, others. When the latter does not exist, there is no meaning, no point, to life.

When I am trolled, not given the chance to be who I honestly am, not allowed the chance to work, and having all friends and family abandon who I truly am, I am absolutely not ashamed, not embarrassed, not sad about writing that I would prefer not to be alive. And began feeling so when I had the initial suspicions of being watched, followed, hated, and bullied by the public. Without shame, I admit to planning my own death. And would find peace in an ending.

I do not have the strengths of migrants, of those in war zones, of those in the most hideous states of suffering. What I envision and suspect (right or wrong) - is even those, the bravest, the strongest of people in those situations have friends, family, a community that rallies together to find strength, hope, faith, and love in surviving together because they have each other. This is something I do not have.

On getting angry, I do. I don’t feel bad about it at all. It’s “a basic human emotion that combines psychological, physiological, and behavioral responses to perceived threats or injustices.” Seems pretty suitable to the above events and the many not mentioned yet.

That anger has only ever been expressed to those closest to me. Primarily in writing. Some in direct conversations. It’s been done through being stern and sharp in tone, direct in speech, painfully honest in approach, with the occasional sprinkling of yelling or meanness saved for the poorest of behaviors.

I wrote a mean post out of anger. I don’t feel bad or ashamed about it at all. It was one of the more therapeutic writings, and the only mean one, in a series of many covering the last 3 years leading to the recent chain of events of absolute psychological hell. It was so therapeutic because the behavior and chain of events are surreal to me. Sure, I’m being dramatic that petty, vindictive, and belittling human behavior shouldn’t be surreal - but in settings where we have education and information at our fingertips with the ability to adequately communicate our needs and just be respectful - it simply is to me. Why be petty, vindictive, or belittling, when respectful communication is so easy.

Additionally, the mean post is about .01% of the stories that compile the downward spiral chain of events over the last 3 years. It is a post, a story, that doesn’t speak to any prior exchanges. It doesn’t speak to any love, kindness, or amicability previously exchanged before the stories being told. So it is open to much judgement, and if there is anything that has raped my life and my mind most over the last 3 years, it is the judgement (and criticism/speculation) of others.

Below is how I find my therapy, my release of anger. Below is how I tell the truth as I know it. Below is how I defend my character. As to me, I believe mockery, passive-aggressive, belittling behavior to be shitty. And while my character is not without fault, it was without the above. Unfortunately for me, I’ve learned that to get along in life, mockery is rampant and must ensue.

For those that judge, those that know nothing of me first-hand, that know nothing of situations that do not include them, that have spent no time with me or talked to me, that know nothing of my entire life, I’m disappointed that you lack the pride and respect for your own life so as to spend a single second thinking about, judging, criticizing, following, or mocking me and mine. How sad and pathetic for you.

****** The Mean Post: “The” Throat Clearing ******

I once had the pleasure of working with a certifiable moronic twat. She worked in a reception-like area right outside the office I shared with someone else. I had to pass by her to go to the bathroom, out to lunch, to any meeting, and to go or come for the day. Fun.

It was during a job I got right after my Dad died. I went back to work still depressed, meandering through the newly found weight of grief, thoughts of my own mortality, and mid-life. So, I wasn’t truly ready to go back to work but made sure to stuff down the grumpy depression before heading into work every day. Then I had the absolute joy of passing Ms. Twat every one of those days on the way in too.

One day, just reveling in the thrill of being the only person in the office with Ms. Twat, I noticed an echo outside my office. No. Could it be? Am I really back on the playground with the annoying kid? Is she really repeating every noise I make – which at the time was clearing my throat. Apparently, I had something in it and then decided to test the situation with several more to see if it was just me or really happening. Oh, the fire burning deep within to reach through the walls and give her something to choke on was palatable – as it was indeed truly mocking.

Trying to be the middle aged, direct adult I am (which I’m learning is overrated), I got up to ask her if I could get her some water. Okay, let me rephrase that. I got up to ask her if I could get her some water with seemingly invisible daggers shooting out of my eyes directly at her head in a wish to start a war. So, it was probably more like an offer of water with a little bit of an “I want to obliterate you with daggers” undertone. Or 10 tons of undertone.

Not too long after, I left that job. For countless reasons, it wasn’t a good fit.

Fast track to the ever so sweet private or criminal investigation that annihilated my life, which is about 2.5 years later, and the throat clearing has followed me. It even followed me into my family, through my aunt, and into my own home. Seriously. So serious I would bet my dog’s life. And the love I have for my dog is indescribable, all consuming, and universe shattering love (mm, kind of looks like I still tried to describe the love after writing it was indescribable huh – I’m a rookie and this is a first draft remember).

What I can gather is at some point, after many people in my life were interviewed about me, including former employers and coworkers, it was said that I’m scary, fidgety, angry, or gawd knows what else given my “I want to obliterate you with daggers” undertone to offering Ms. Twat a glass of water. Not too far off from a good, correct conclusion of my – apparently not very well concealed – disdain for intentionally stupid people. However, to bridge the gap from my disdain to being a gunman is still one I’m failing to connect (though I do know where the gunman theory comes from and that’s a whole other writing in and of itself). My guess – is that the theory goes I’m “triggered” by throat clearing (more on this in a short bit).

Anyhow, so since my family is involved in the investigation, and at this point deep into poking and prodding everything I say and do, including watching and videoing me, I have an aunt who decided to invite herself along on one of my road trips across the country from my mother’s home to my home. And guess what came with us. Indeed. “The” throat clearing. (Long story on how I’m so sure it was “the” throat clearing but just trust me.)

So, partly into a 33-hour road trip (yes, 33 painful f***ing hours) the throat clearing emerges. Now – let me be clear – it’s not the throat clearing that drudges up the disdain, it’s knowing how many truly moronic twats there are in the world. If there was a treatment center for having an insanely low tolerance for moronic twats and other-related-types-of-intentionally-stupid-people categories, I would be committed in an instant. So again, not the throat clearing that’s a trigger. It’s knowing when an idiot is doing it to go on a power trip and for a good laugh that sends my eyes rolling to the point of risking injury. I’ll spare you the story of my aunt, the road trip, and endless throat clearing. Though when someone that close to me does something that intentionally stupid, it does “trigger” the end of the relationship. I did try to talk to my aunt, about the throat clearing and about the other disrespectful behavior; it didn’t help. Another intentionally stupid person and lack luster relationship bites the dust. Oh, and there have been many over the course of this loving investigation.

Over time I’ve learned to have fun with it. After all, strangers who do intentionally stupid things don’t bother me nearly as much as when people I love or that are close to me do intentionally stupid things. Now, I just join the mocking. Though, in all honesty, I’ve never intentionally started mocking someone; it’s just plain and simple not me.

The throat clearing followed me more places than just my aunt. It’s been a hideously insane investigation full of harassment everywhere I turn. Seemingly to get me to freak out or something. I’m a pretty peaceful person, grumpy, and at times fidgety, but peaceful. And I do usually use my grown-up words to communicate. … not that they always land well.

To be clear, the moronic throat clearing wasn’t the only reason I’ll never see my aunt again, there was other atrocious behavior that’s just unforgettable. I’ll forgive, but life’s too short to risk exposure to that kind of suffering again. The scorn for the atrocity is everlasting.

I have to be honest in that throughout the raping and murdering of my life and my mind over the last 3 years - and no, that’s not me being dramatic - I have found solace in time spent with my dog. While I would never willingly leave her side, if I ever did, I imagine a life for her that should have been and that will be better than what I can give her now.

I also have to be honest in that while my own mother doubted me fully, denied certain past behaviors, I have found solace in the turnabout of our relationship and couldn’t be more grateful.

Otherwise, with the exception of therapeutic writings such as this, and the one that lies within above, all has been lost. And given the extreme situation in which I find myself, I feel no shame, guilt, or remorse in being angry or mean in my writings.