Lord, give me compassion for my enemies so I do not hit them in their faces

Man, I do not like some people. I am finding a few particularly grating lately. I want to talk shit, but I am trying not to.
I will try to anonymize this for several reasons. One, because talking shit isn’t good for the people around me. It’s poisonous for the atmosphere. It’s also bad for me! It’s toxic to my mind. I also don’t usually have good motives for doing it. I do it to turn people against My Enemy. And for reasons even more subtle that took some serious research on Seer to discover.

Eugène_Grasset_-_La_Vitrioleuse The Acid Thrower

Throw that acid, right in his or her haughty face! Fuck a bitch or bastard up!

I used to have really low self-esteem. I used to think no one would want to be my friend if they knew what I was really like. So I needed a “hook” to get people to be my friend. If I was funny, or smart, or useful, just something, then maybe people would consider having me as a friend. Because I was intrinsically worthless. My worth really was based in what I could do for you.

I still hear people do things that are variations of this theme. They’re good people because they take care of their kids, or shitty people because they can’t pay their taxes on time. No, you’re good people just because. That’s my worldview, anyhow. You should do good things because they’re good, not to earn a spot on the globe.

But back to the gossip: it was social currency. If I had something particularly juicy to say about someone, maybe you’d sit by me. Maybe you’d even seek me out! It was a way to get you to stay in my life. Now, I’ve come a real long way since then. It still can come out. But I’ve done a lot of deep work to believe that I deserve to exist. Really. Even if no one wants to be my friend and I have to sit in a crowded room with nothing to do, I’ll be okay. I may feel extremely uncomfortable and maybe even embarrassed, but no one’s died of embarrassment or discomfort yet.

What I try to do to get compassion for my enemies (not because I am so compassionate and such a magnanimous person, but because otherwise I will go insane with fits of rage) is to write little stories that explain why they have developed the behaviors and coping mechanisms that so bother me.

I think one person, Z, is getting all of her or his self-esteem from one place. I don’t think this person gets out that much. So when that one thing is challenged a little, Z doesn’t know how to act except all Diva Queen Bee/King Shit of the Universe. Z will tell you how it’s done, because Z is used to living with Z and Z is fine telling Z how to do it right. I do not take this advice so graciously. I need to laugh it off. Really, it doesn’t matter.

Someone else I’ll call 1′ because why not and “One Prime” is fun to say, is really driving me crazy, but I think that this person may have been raised rich and everyone kissed his ass. After the divorce, 1′ didn’t realize that he wasn’t really fantastic because a) he’s a little crazy, b) he may be drugged, c) he may have had an accident that caused some head trauma, d) the divorce was a traumatic kindling event laying down some future PTSD (maybe 1′ was kidnapped by one or both parents!) e) it just never occurred to him to even consider the possibility that people had been paid to kiss his ass as a rich kid, or some combination of two or more of these factors. Anyways, now that 1′ is poor and shit, he still acts extremely entitled. It’s odd. Because he isn’t all that, but he doesn’t know it. He’s still all that to him. It’s not as charming as fish out of water romantic comedies would have you think, trust me.

I mean, that was a fun-filled romp! This person, maybe if I put him in a maid’s outfit in my mind, he’ll be more endearing.

Oh, and someone else is telling me what the fuck to do but refusing to do the same. A lot of do-what-I-say-and-not-what-I-do. Thinks my school is worthless but theirs is just fine. I should exercise and diet, but they should take medication for their conditions. And my books are crap but theirs are golden. Plus everything they cook is with condensed cream of shit soup and their house stinks of cat pee.

But that last person is my Moms so I can’t avoid her. She’s still awesome sometimes, though. These other two are strictly for the birds!

Sugarcubes — “Mama”  (1988)

This song alone is enough to make me okay with Moms again. I do love the crazy lady. We’re just so crazy together, we are.


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