On Hating

I'm a pretty meek person in the real world. I'm the type who lets other people walk on them and then beats himself up for it later. Over the years I've made progress, but I'm still not what you'd call assertive.

Being on the Internet's given me a lot of opportunity to make up for that. On the computer, you pretty much can't shut me up about things that piss me off, exactly why they piss me off, and on and on and on. In some ways I like this about myself. I like being able to put words to things that drive me crazy.

And sometimes, if I feel like I haven't quite hit the mark, I go off on the same topic repeatedly. Some things that I've done this with are racism, poverty, weight issues and gender. Some slightly less important things include the dread Indigo Child, Jack from Lost, even politics (though not as much as before).

It doesn't matter to me how important to the world the topic might be. I do admit that from reading a lot of my old writing I get the distinct impression that it meant a lot more to me than I remember it meaning. My trouble with establishing perspective is a deep flaw in my writng craft, which kills me to admit, as does the fact that I still haven't quite gotten control of it.

For what it's worth, I've been calming down a lot. The burning diatribes of 2004 make me a little ashamed, because they seem somewhat undignified and maybe a little fanatical. I still feel things strongly and still bitch about them on my journal, but I like to think I'm betting a better handle on the difference between a tantrum and an essay.

Having an audience when I do so has both complicated the situation and made it easier. On the one hand, it's pretty badass when other people participate and I get to find out I'm not the only one who thinks X topic is absolutely stupid. The downside is, however, that not everything I write about is sufficiently removed from the real world and the people in it to be harmless to them.

Take for example my tendency to mock weight-related subjects. For example, pro-anorexia. It drives me crazy that people are casually adopting a mental disorder as a form of diet, egging each other on, and writing bad poetry about it when their parents catch them and try to put a stop to it.

The famous tendency of the pro-ana crowd toward treating fat people like crap because they are afraid of being fat themselves doesn't help me think kindly of them, nor does their "pity me for a week" flirtation with someoene else's deadly disease.

The media doesn't help either. As a great big fatass, I'm personally affected by anyone's reinforcement of the idea that no one can ever be perfect, that anything in the world is better than gaining ten pounds.

Take for example the concept of encouraging beautiful women with exaggerated minor flaws (such as "I have freckles" or "my breasts are only C's") to convey the originally profound message of "Love yourself no matter what you look like." It erodes the message and smacks of Mary Sue-ism.

As another example, I recently read that Kate Winslet is still considered plus-sized, and is being lauded in the news as an overweight woman defying the norm. This kind of bizarro world logic makes me turn actual colors. It's just wrong.

I go overboard with it sometimes, but I can't pretend my culture isn't just plain crazy. And that's where I'm coming from.

This anger is one of the things I like about myself. Is the outrage enough to make me write crappy poetry of my own? No. Okay, not anymore. Is it enough to make me bitch on my blog for half an hour? Yeah, sometimes it is.

I'm offended by what I see as an unacceptable aspect of our culture, and prone to tirades against pretty much anything that offends me. These things happen; for the greater part, they happen to good effect. I've been told many times that people find my rants cathartic (if poorly written or less than articulate at times). The thing is that not everyone agrees with me, and not everyone is outside the damage zone.

One of the bad things about taking a stand is hurting the feelings of people who have issues related to whatever I'm bitching about. Sometimes "No, what I'm saying is ____" doesn't cover it.

When a person tells me I've basically dragged their emotions through the mud and backpedaled or changed my story to make it all better, there's no explanation I can give that will answer the basic problem. And if there's one, there are others who felt that way and said nothing because Luka enjoys mocking people who say stupid things, and for all they know I'll see their point of view as fodder for more attacking.

While we're over here being honest, I am going to admit that yes, I do feel jealousy toward thin people. Not just because I covet a body type that's stronger and capable of doing awesome things, but because I covet the ease. That's something fat people hear a lot about--how easy it is to be thin.

I do feel jealousy. How can I not? I've been told to try harder by people who don't know me at all. People who, while claiming to be concerned about my health, undermine and cause harm to the dignity that makes me want to change for the better. Like my body belongs to the assholes of the world.

This vulnerability is hard for me to cop to. It's something I've only shared with told two people in my life. I'm weak and whiny and occasionally feel preyed upon. It's not the basis of my anger or a secret motive to hate on skinny people, but it's a part of why I care. I'm affected by the same bullshit attitudes. Nothing is more frustrating than being played and knowing it.

Yes, it matters to me when I'm insulted. I try to be hardcore so people can't get to me, but there's never going to be a time when I'm completely uncaring.

Being told by my culture that I have no right to live my life in peace without justifying myself to strangers has been a burden on my self-respect for years, and sometimes the first thing you do when you finally take control of your emotions is unmask and banish your demons. I'm working on it.

I have remidned myself time and again to be careful and not resort to shaming people I see as being better off than I am. I don't think they deserve it, and never have. But I am bitter. Sometimes I'm too bitter, and it casts a tone on the entire message and I end up making the wrong sort of statement entirely.

So: I'm sorry. I'm sorry I make fun of weight issues and insulted those living on the other side of the coin. I'm sorry that I neglected to call to account the people who, in agreeing with me in any particular rant, added that "real women are like THIS and the rest of you are not worthy," thus continuing the cycle of fat-hate versus skinny-hate.

I'm sorry that I failed to walk the line between loving the person and ridiculing the attitude. I was trying to, but I didn't do as good a job as I'd thought.

I'm sorry I defended my argument with explanations and qualifications that came off as cavalier or insincere and thus failed to undo the hurt. I'm sorry I made people of any size out to be bad or stupid for being victims of the same bullshit mentality. I'm sorry that I have made people feel like shit. I'm sorry I never got around to leveling my angry gaze on the Fat Pride movement, which is something I needed to do for the sake of being fair and explicit.

For what it's worth, I don't humiliate others on purpose. I get no pleasure from empty and meaningless revenge. I know from experience that it leaves me feeling hollow and hating myself more than ever. It is not what I'm about.

My intentions have always been good, but wherever and whenever that intention has ended with someone being hurt and keeping quiet out of desire for peace, I take responsibility. It doesn't matter if my offense was due to perceived insult or actual abuse--the sin is still there and I acknowledge it as mine.

And I'm sorry.