Mean Adults Suck

I believe that every child, no matter how good, goes through at least one "mean" phase.  To wit, my middle daughter, who is normally a ray of sunshine with a sparkly smile and a fantastic sense of humor, occasionally has these moments:

This is a more typical look for her:

But she is ten, and when she comes home with stories of classmates being mean to each other, I can help her process, can tell her that fourth grade is a hard time and that, as much as she gets annoyed by us, she is lucky to have a family that loves her, doesn't hit her or scream at her, and is in general exceedingly fair to her.

And then I tell her it will get better when she grows up, which is a lie.  I kind of have to say it, though.

I am one of those stupid people that believe the best in everybody, and consequently get hurt over and over again.  You'd think I'd have learned by now.

You know, the guy I'm seeing has two other girlfriends.  People at work make the little clique on Mean Girls look friendly.  The guy at the grocery store that slammed my car with his fist and screamed at me when he was clearly going the wrong way on a one-way street area in a parking lot. The speaker at my college graduation said that Santa Claus was fake (and surely Emily wasn't the only child young enough to believe in the audience).

Yeah, I pull in bad luck the way honey attracts bees.

But I am not mean.

It's funny, we have a running joke in my family that I am cursed.  My mother used to yell at me when I said it and say that it was because I have a bad attitude, but now she just smiles and shakes her head, because really, what else do you have to do when the truth is self-evident?

I am not mean, but a lot of people are.

I keep my mouth shut a lot, whether my family and close friends believe it or not, about all the meanness I see every day.  People lying to feather their own nests.

Like, a few days before Gabrielle was born, we went to Babies R Us and people that were not overtly pregnant had parked in the "for expectant moms only" parking spot.  Now, it's not that I doubt they were pregnant, but we'd gone to Babies R Us dozens of times and parked far away because I didn't think it was fair to steal a spot from someone who obviously needed it.

Like, people being appointed to committees to promote kindness when they are the meanest people of all.

Like, people that talk smack about people all the time because they have nothing better to do.  I mean, does it make you feel better to criticize other people?  Do you sleep better at night knowing that you're making fun of someone that could use the support of a friend instead of being made a joke of?

I'm speaking in generalities, obviously, but the truth is that I could get very specific because mean people are everywhere.

So, why are people mean?  Are they jealous?  Is their own self-esteem that bad?  Are they willing to lie and put on a fake face for the people that make decisions? Is it really that hard to live a life of kindness, to treat people the way you want to be treated?  If you see someone struggling, isn't it easier to lend a helping hand or a listening ear than to talk trash about them?

What do you think? 

Repercussions of Rape (Part I)

One night in early January of 1998, I got very drunk and had sex with my best friend.  I, of course, wanted to talk about it, even asked, "So that happened because we were so drunk, right?" because then of course we could laugh it off and move on and so on.  He said, "Being drunk had nothing to do with it."

Our friendship was a bit awkward after that, to say the least.

A couple of weeks later, we were out with a couple of his friends.  I was on my second drink at the bar (and that was when I could hold my liquor pretty well for a college girl), and suddenly I was cuckoo, like falling over my feet wasted.  It got worse instead of better, and I vaguely remember walking back to my best friend's condo.  He went upstairs with one of the other guys, and I went out to the balcony to smoke a cigarette with this guy, Tom.  I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, he gave me another beer.

**Note: I am putting in some details.  If this will bother you, please don't read it**
The next thing I remember, I was being sodomized on the pullout couch.  Words cannot express how painful it was.  When I went to cry out, I realized that my mouth felt like it had been propped open for hours.

"Stop!"I tried to yell, but it came out a whisper.  He did stop what he was doing, though.

"You shut up, bitch, or I'll kill you.  You and your little loverboy upstairs."

"He's not my--" I began, and he interrupted me by ... well, by filling up my mouth again.  I quickly realized why my mouth was so sore.

I was crying so hard, but I did it silently.

He said, "You're getting snot on my dick.  You'd better stop or I'll make you lick it off."

I guess he had an aversion to mucous, because he got on top of me and started raping me vaginally.  He had obviously spent some time doing this already.  The sheets of the pull-out couch were white, and I'd slept platonically on them with my best friend many, many times.  They were spotted with blood, I realized, and then I looked around and it occurred to me that "spotted" was a weak word.  This had clearly been going on a long time.

I begged him to stop over and over and he said, "You're really boring."

Finally, I said, "I want you to come.  I want to make you feel good."

He stopped what he was doing (briefly), got in my face, and said, "You don't have the stuff to make me come, little girl. You just don't have it."

Then I kind of blacked out again, which I'm glad about, and the next thing I know, someone is coming down the stairs.  It was, of course, my best friend, the one which I'd had drunken casual sex with just a couple weeks before.

I was so sore and doped up and naked and bloody and ashamed that I just said, "I'm going to go home, I think."

He didn't say anything.

I grabbed my clothes and ran for the bathroom.  I couldn't pee, even though I had to go terribly.  I sat there trying to make pee come out, but no luck.  When I stood to get dressed, I cried with pain and got very scared when I saw all the blood in the toilet bowl.

I flushed and went to the sink.  My hands were spotted with blood like a henna tattoo, and I used soap for what felt like forever, but even after that I don't know if the blood was gone or not.  I was still seeing it.

I walked out the door without saying goodbye and went home.  I locked the door and took a bath and looked at the bruises and felt the blood still seeping out of every orifice.  My jaw ached terribly and popped every time I went to open my mouth.  He had bitten off a piece of my nipple, and that hit me hard. I had fed my daughter with that nipple.

I laid in the bathtub until the water got cold, then I reran another tubful.  My vagina and anus were still bleeding, and I was afraid to look.  I fell asleep in the bathtub, and when I woke up I felt alive and myself, at least.

I got dressed in sweats and a t-shirt and made a grilled cheese sandwich.  I cleaned my apartment, even though it hurt terribly.  My best friend stopped by later, and I was going to tell him until I saw his face.  He had a bag with him, and he wouldn't look at me, just handed me the bag.

"The sheets," he said.  "There's blood all over them.  You ruined the sheets, but it's your blood, so maybe you won't mind how dirty they are" or something like that, and then he left.

"I had my period," I yelled after him.  "I just had my period, that's what the blood is."

He didn't listen.  He knew damn well I was lying.  He just didn't know why.

And life went on.  I put on a huge amount of weight and cut my hair short because I didn't want anyone to think of me as pretty.  I became sexually promiscuous with some pretty shady characters.  I basically gave Emily to my parents for awhile because I was such a mess.  I flunked out of college.

The woman is this picture (circa 2009) thinks the rape is behind her.  She has no idea that, even though her life is "together" on the surface, that ugliness is still inside ... and might always be there.

My parents knew that something had happened, but they didn't know what, and I certainly couldn't tell them.   They made a deal where they would pay for me to take a summer course at UNH and, if I did well, they would pay for me to go part-time in the fall, and, if that was successful, return to being a full-time student in the spring.

I had some successes in college, and that built up a bit of the confidence.  I met and married my ex-husband.  I became a teacher.  Life went on.

Until I bumped into my best friend at Wal-Mart one day in 2009 and asked if we could get a drink, that I had some things I needed to talk to him about.  That whole saga is recorded here, if you're interested in reading it.

I figured that my best friend knowing the truth would be an absolution of some sort, because I knew I had hurt him badly, and it was.

I truly believed that the rape was in the past, that I had healed, that I was over it.

This is all I can write for right now.  I'm starting to get upset and anxious, but I'll write "Repercussions of Rape Part II" in the next few days.

I will say this, to anyone who has ever been raped or molested or anything like that ... please, please, please know that it's not your fault, and know that there are people who will listen.  Sometimes it just takes awhile to be able to say the words ...

Is Facebook Reverting Adults Back to Eighth Graders?

I am a Facebook addict.  I really am.  I post updates about the weather, random quotes (primarily from famous drunk Irishmen), and pictures that nobody cares about but me.

I mean, does anyone really want to see either Belle's modeling pics or her "Beaver Face"?

She does clean up well, no ;-)?

But seriously, one of my FB friends posted last night: "Age does not define whether you are an adult.  Your actions do.  Some 'adults' are so fuc*ing childish", and I had an epiphany.

Facebook has made it so much easier for adults to act like children ... for teens to bully each other ... for cruelty to perpetuate.

How often do you hear, "Well, so-and-so said this about Joe Blow on FB.  The post isn't there?  Well, it was.  They must have taken it down so there's no proof."

No proof?  What is this, a court of freaking law?  It's a social networking site!

So I commented to my FB friend, "Amen!!!! And FB has really exacerbated this...I am soooooo amused by adults 'punishing' each other by unfriending.  It's like being back in eighth grade."

Her response?  "Or people who can't talk like grown ups, instead choosing to rant about someone on that person's FB and then delete and/or block them.  THEN do this so  many freaking times they have to keep making new FB pages with different versions of their name because they've pissed off too many people and can't keep track of who they've deleted, blocked, or ranted to.  Yup.  Very adult."

All of which got me thinking how lucky I am to have avoided that degree of drama.

My own personal experience with this is tied to one person (well, two, I guess...three if you want to count my fiance, who probably set the wheel in motion), and while part of me would love to rant about his transgressions, both emotionally abusive through Facebook and physically abusive in reality, I try to be better.

Suffice it to say that when someone should be on the post office wall for deadbeats, somehow has the money to travel all over the place virtually every weekend (and document said travels on Facebook, which is one of the rudest and nastiest in-your-faces I can imagine) and buy sweet new cars (with pictures proudly posted when, as a result of said deadbeatery, his child is riding in a car with 250,000 miles on it), and post on FB pictures of a child he chooses not to see for month-long stretches at a time as though he were there and involved instead of yoinking pics from someone else's wall, it is pretty deplorable.

And yet nobody said ANYTHING about those transgressions.  He totally got away with being an irresponsible, self-centered douchebag.  Were these things frustrating?  Beyond belief.  But when you're an adult, you take the high road.  (And lest you think, as you're reading this, "Well, she's kind of doing what she claims to hate", please know that I am leaving out a million things and keeping this very general).

My fiance Henry, who considers the little girl in question the absolute light of his life, snapped over the combination of his princess' distress that "Daddy loves his girlfriend more than he loves me" because he chose to spend Father's Day with his girlfriend over his daughter and the far more disturbing FB post that he and his girlfriend went out for "Father's Day brunch" together (a fact that we made sure to keep from a little girl who would have been either more devastated).

Anyway, Henry made a comment on a Facebook post that was probably not particularly mature but was 100% accurate.  And was promptly unfriended, blocked, and otherwise wiped from the warped existence of an utterly insane world.

Which I can understand.  I mean, who wants to be called out publicly on his bad behavior?  It doesn't matter if it's true (in fact, it might even be worse, because ... well, I do wonder how some people sleep at night), it's probably humiliating to have the world potentially know just how badly you suck, particularly when you try to put up this professional facade which is a total joke to anyone that knows you.

Oops, I'm starting to cross that maturity line there ...  Focus!

What I do not understand, however, is why I was likewise unfriended, blocked, and otherwise wiped from the warped existence of an utterly insane world.  I did not make the comment.  I have always been there for this SOB, no matter what he's done to me, and I've never been snarky about the amount of money he spends on himself and his girlfriend even when I've had to roll quarters (and occasionally dimes and nickels) to have enough gas money to get to work because he is not paying child support.  

Okay, that was a little snarky.  God's honest truth, but still snarky.

The thing is, it's no great loss.  Frankly, the best thing he could do for his child is drop dead; he has lied to her and hurt her enough for a hundred lifetimes.  She is completely done with him, and forcing her to call him on the phone each night is an exercise in torture for both of us.  But, as they say, there is no luck like an alcoholic's luck, and so the nightmare will probably be continuing for the forseeable future.

It's the way it was done--"Henry pissed me off, so I'm going to delete YOU from Facebook"--that really hurt my feelings and, yeah, made me pretty angry.  Of course, it epitomizes this twit's M.O. and approach to life, so I guess there's that ...

One other thing that totally cracked me up is that I guess I'm in good company.

A friend who has managed to avoid his magic delete button told me the funniest story (yes, I'm aware of what I'm doing here ... consider it driving the point home).  He posted a quote from John Nash talking about how mathematicians are prone to "maniacal characteristics, delirium, and symptoms of schizophrenia".  One of his FB friends put "So are drunks!!!!!!"  The comment was removed...and so was the friend.

Some people need to play God and control their warped realities, I guess ...

Which brings this back to Facebook.  Never before have we had that degree of power over who our "friends" are, what we choose to publicize, and how we can show up on other people's pages via comments or pictures.  It's kind of scary ...

And it would be nice if people could act like adults on Facebook.  Of course, it would be nice if people could act like adults in reality, but this is a platform that unfortunately reinforces the opposite.

I love Facebook because I enjoy seeing what my friends are doing.  I like making plans through an outlet that ensures nobody is excluded because it's ...  you know, public.  I love getting to see pictures of my nephews and jokes and interesting articles.  And I adore hearing the latest quotes from my nephew in Baltimore, who is possibly the only person in the world more naturally funny than Belle.  

I try to avoid drama.  I see an awful lot of it, though, in my news feed, and it makes me feel uneasy.

In my world, I try to be nice to everybody.  I try to believe the best in others, and I constantly tell myself that their intentions are just being misconstrued.  I don't expect everyone to feel this way or try to live this way or whatever, but it's a nice aspiration.

And I truly believe that Facebook makes this more difficult.  The immediacy with which you can vent and complain and act without thinking through the ramifications is scary.  The ability for teenagers (and yeah, probably adults) to go on someone else's account and wreak havoc is even more frightening.

So what do you think?  Is Facebook (and, to a slightly lesser extent--unless you're a celebrity--Twitter) lowering the maturity level of mankind?

Is Simple Human Kindness Possible in 2012?

**This is an exemplar paper I wrote for an argumentative essay assignment.  I really liked the way it turned out, so I figured I'd share it here and hopefully get some conversation going ... it's a subject I feel incredibly strongly about.

How many people have felt hurt, embarrassed, or even bullied by others?  The number is incredibly high.  Think about how truly sad it is that so many people are mistreated—whether it be at school, at work, or even at home—every day.  Perhaps the most tragic part is evidence shows that those who are treated poorly are far more likely to be cruel to other people, creating a vicious cycle that just makes the problem that much bigger.  There is absolutely no doubt that far too many people are mean to (or, at the very least, insensitive to the feelings of) other people every day.

Feeling helpless at times is part of being human; it is an emotion that we can all relate to, whether we’re talking about driving a car sliding out of control on an icy road or the time we are unable to keep from passing gas in the classroom.  Let’s face it, helplessness goes hand in hand with fear, and there is not much worse in the world than being afraid.  There is an old saying that misery loves company, and this is unquestionably a reason that people mistreat others.  Say you’re having the kind of morning where the jelly squirts all over your shirt when you take a bite of your doughnut, then you spill chocolate milk onto your pants (and somehow onto your hair as well, where it quickly gets crusty and foul-smelling) while reaching for the Tide-to-Go Stick.  When you get to your first period class, Susy Sunshine looks perfect in her

new outfit, wearing just a hint of lovely perfume instead processed strawberries and rotten milk.  There are some people that might feel the urge to “accidentally” spill Susy’s orange juice all over her, just to make themselves feel a little less helpless over their own stinky situation, or even make a cruel comment, something like, “Wow, Susy, you just wore that shirt yesterday, and something smells funny in here.  Didn’t you know you’re supposed to wash your clothes and not wear shirts two days in a row?”  After all, it’s entirely possible that it might take away that horrible feeling of helplessness.

A lot of the time, people that are cruel to others are doing so to deflect negative attention from themselves.  If, for example, you drive a Ford 500 sedan that looks like the kind of car your grandmother would pick out and it embarrasses you, you might make fun of cars that other people are driving so no one will think to make fun of your old lady mobile.  This sort of preemptive strike is very effective; once a few people are making fun of somebody else, a lot of people will jump on the bandwagon and join in just because they are afraid that, if they don’t, they’ll be getting made fun of, too, sooner or later.  Gossip is a cruel sword, and nobody wants to be the subject of nasty conversations, to be the person written about on Facebook, to have their actions exaggerated until the stories that are spreading like wildfire have pretty much no basis in reality.  How to make sure that doesn’t happen?  Pretty simple, really … keep the rumors flying to be sure that everyone is talking about somebody else; that way, you can keep people from getting the chance to even start spreading gossip about you.  This is very sad but, unfortunately, also very effective.

                                                                                                                                               

So where do people get the idea that it’s okay to treat people this way?  There’s no question that movies and television have played a role in this for quite some time, with thousands of Americans getting subtle lessons on how to treat each other from Jersey Shore and movies like Mean Girls.  It is impossible to ignore, though, the level of cruelty that became more acceptable through videos on YouTube.  Perhaps the most telling example is the story of Jessi Slaughter, a young middle schooler from Florida who spent a lot of time making YouTube videos talking about how wonderful she was … until she started hearing from followers and comments that she was nowhere near as cool as she thought.  Instead of walking away from the increasingly ugly situation and just letting it go, Jessi posted a video arguing back, basically saying that people were hating on her because they were jealous of her for being so amazing.  To say the least, people weren’t impressed, and her real name, address, and phone number were posted, leading to some potentially dangerous situations.  What ended up happening was that Jessi’s father appeared in a response YouTube video, totally freaking out and saying ridiculous things such as threatening to call “the cyberpolice”, stating that he knew who was harassing Jessi because he “backtraced” the comments, and most infamously yelling, “You done goofed!” at a webcam.  I’ve seen the video, and listening to a southern farmer screaming, “I’m gonna report you to the cyber police!” is really quite funny … until you stop and think about the fact that there are real people involved.  YouTube and reality television have narrowed the gap between real life and entertainment to the point where it is probably difficult for some to make the distinction.  It’s easy to forget that there are real people getting hurt when you’re watching Parkour fail videos or something.  The little screen that we watch has become all too real, and forgetting that is both increasingly common and a little dangerous.  It’s hard enough sometimes to take the thoughts and feelings of other people into consideration; when we see what is often downright cruelty right in front of our eyes, marketed as entertainment, it just reinforces the idea that being mean to others is okay.

But are the people that make a big thing about this overreacting?  After all, there is growing agreement that YouTube videos where people get hurt and reality TV shows, where gossip and backstabbing are par for the course are simply entertainment.  Most people know right from wrong and are not going to change the nature of who they are because they watch The Hills or enjoy watching things get blown up on YouTube.  Furthermore, the world is not always a kind place; unfortunately, there are a lot of adults that never seemed to outgrow the middle school gossipy, backstabbing mentality.  To pretend that most people are good and nice is just not realistic; is there anything wrong with watching TV shows, movies, and internet that reflect the way that life really is in 2012 America? 

The increasing acceptance of cruelty and unkindness in the media is a result of too many people using the pain of others to push away their own feelings of helplessness, of far too many members of society making fun of other people so that maybe, just maybe, nobody will take the time to notice—and start making fun of—them.  I know that it sounds simple, perhaps overly so, but life is much happier for all concerned when we extend a warm smile rather than a sneering smirk.  It’s easy to make fun of those that stand out as different—perhaps they’re too tall, too short, overweight, underweight, owner of an annoying cackling laugh, have clothes exclusively from American Eagle, have close exclusively from Wal-Mart, come to school covered in dog hair, and so on and so forth—because it seems better than looking at the mirror and trying to figure out what about you people could focus in on to make fun of.  If for one day, everyone could make an effort to extend a hand in kindness instead of to tape on a “kick me” sign, if an effort could be made to say something nice about everyone, think about the good things that you would get back in return.  And if nobody was gossiping, nobody would have to worry about who was spreading rumors about them and what was being said and so on.  It’s a leap of faith that is more than likely impossible, but, until we are willing to walk toward that sort of “treat others the way you want to be treated” mentality, people are going to be unkind to each other.  I have faith that this can change, but it would require a huge effort from the entire population; and that’s where, unfortunately, I think the sticking point would be.  I’ll keep hoping, though; if enough of us are thinking this way, perhaps someday kindness can be the reality and norm instead of something unusual and strange.           

Honoring a Marriage That is Over

Nine years ago today, I got married.  I took marriage very seriously, and I certainly never intended for it to ever end.  As a child of divorce myself, it was vitally important to me that I make the commitment of marriage only if I was 100% sure.

Obviously, things didn't work out the way I'd intended.

Mental illness and alcoholism brought on by stress and long-suppressed memories changed the man that I married--and he was a good man--into an unrecognizable monster.

There are two people in every marriage, and there are two people that contribute to the destruction of one.  I have a boatload of faults, and I do not pretend to have been the perfect wife.  I wish that my ex-husband could have communicated his concerns to me before reaching for the bottle.  I wish that with all my heart, because we had a really good marriage for a very long time.

I will never be sorry that I was married to Pythagorus.  Ever. (And we had an extremely unpleasant phone conversation last night that falls under "bullying" and "verbal assault" as defined by my school and by pretty much anyone with a clear mind, so these words carry greater weight today, as far as I'm concerned, than they would have yesterday at this time)

The most obvious reason that I don't regret my marriage is obviously Belle, a magical, funny, beautiful, intelligent miracle of a child.

But there is a lot more.

The man I married had a wonderful sense of humor.  We spent hours laughing together, sharing stories from our days, discussing current events that crossed into bizarre territory, and finding entertainment everywhere we went.

He was unfailingly kind.  He would give the shirt off his back to a stranger, and I completely mean that.  I watched him, over the course of our marriage, offer assistance to human beings of every age and walk of life, and he did it without expecting anything in return.  I can't remember him ever raising his voice--much less his hand--to me for the lion's share of the years we dated and were married.

Pythagorus was a master at finding random adventures.  We would get into the car and just drive, talking the whole time, and ending up in many different and unexpected locations.  It's a rare person that can find excitement in the seemingly mundane, and Pythagorus was a genius at this.

Pythagorus unquestionably made me a better person.  I was at a very low point in my life when I met him, and his positive attitude and appreciation for things like sunsets on a mountain or flying a kite on a windy day dissipated the bitter, cynical attitude I had adopted toward life.  Many of the good parts of who I am today are because of the love, support, and patience that Pythagorus gave to me.

I do not trust easily, and there were things I never told Pythagorus about my past (in retrospect, I'm relieved, because he's turned into the kind of jerk that would find a way to use some of these things against me), but I did fully believe in him and completely trusted that he would always be there for me just as I intended to always be there for him.

My husband, for all intents and purposes, died several years ago.  It's only recently that I've fully realized that, and I still grieve for him.  I loved him very much, and I still miss him.

However, the man with Pythagorus' face today, the bitter and cynical and mistrustful liar that has taken over his body, is not that man.

Which makes it even worse.

When somebody that you love passes away, the pain is enormous.  Death is the ultimate closure, in a way, because you have to forge ahead with life and figure out a way to live without a loved one.  You can look back fondly, can visit a cemetery, can appreciate the difference someone made in your life and honor that person through words and deeds.

I lost my stepdad and my grandfather, both great men in terms of their families and of the larger world, within a few years of each other.  I loved them both very much, and I miss them every day.  Their legacies live on, though, through memories and stories shared at family events and, yes, through those of us they left behind.      

It is impossible to honor the Pythagorus that exists today.  There is nothing--not one single thing--noble or fine about him.

The fact that he was once a great man makes the cruelty of not being able to honor who he used to be even more difficult.  The face I once loved is still in the world, spitting out lies, bullying, manipulating, endangering the lives of other people, and thriving on mind games.

It makes it difficult to even mourn the man who was my husband, and that just breaks my heart.

But I can still honor our marriage, and so that is what I do today.