I do not usually hold a grudge. I can be consistent, and choose to let irritable people irritate themselves, but I don’t see avoiding bitter hateful drama queens and kings as holding a grudge.
There are times that the best thing to do is simply walk away. Typically this happens when you walk away, but some folks seem to believe that is the time to begin an argument.
My first wife began an argument thirty years ago when we divorced. I stopped arguing about fifteen years ago, but she’s still going. It’s something of an embarrassment, people question “what did you do that has her so pissed off after thirty years?”. The answer is I gave her what she wanted, I left.
No, it doesn’t make any sense. I haven’t seen the woman in over a decade, but she’s still out there, stalking me, spreading her hate wherever she can. She’s not alone, there are several people in my past that have chosen to spend their lives enveloped in hatred. I sat down the other day and contemplated the reason. The answer is, I allow bad people into my life.
I’m finding that these people are not rare. In fact, there’s nothing special about them. NPR has even coined an acronym for their behavior, “ACC” or Annoying (or any A- word) Carbon Copy. Dragging the world into your discussion. Prevalent in Middle Schools. The thing these people don’t realize is that the only thing they accomplish is to widen the circle of people who think they’re a wanker. Oh, and in my case, when they take their private hell onto public forums, I end up selling a few more books.
There is a disgusting story created by my parents’ other son, in which he insults both my dead wife and my present wife who he has never met. It is the very reason I refuse to speak his name. If people choose to believe that story, they don’t know me. If they choose to repeat the story, and they have no reason to believe it to be true, they are wankers. I have no room for wankers in my life anymore. So I spent some time earlier this week saying goodbye to people I have loved, because they obviously don’t love me. The response has been deafening. These are people who say they don’t want to talk to me (but they’re comfortable talking about me) and now I can’t shut them up.
My son, who has refused to talk to me for years, is suddenly a chatterbox now that I told him I was finished trying. He’s in his thirties, and has chosen to believe people that he is well aware have lied to him all their lives, because the truth just isn’t as interesting. The only thing that got him started talking was my saying “I’m done”. Now that I’ve stopped trying to talk to him, he’s tried to spread his personal issues around the internet. If you’ve been exposed to any of this, you understand why I’ve given up.
Other relatives have chosen to be polite to my parents other child, which he apparently takes as approval. It would have been so very heartwarming if they had shared the condemnation of his behavior that they expressed to me with him, but decent people let sleeping wankers lie. Someday they’ll realize he talks about them the same way he talks about me, they probably already do and just limit their exposure. I’m sure that applies to most people who choose to impose their impolite opinions on polite society.
I have a soft heart. I am attracted to wounded people. I have this misguided idea that demonstrating love will negate hate. Wow have I been wrong. Wounded people are to be avoided as wounded animals. Of course, I still approach wounded animals, the Boy Scout in me just won’t die.
It is in the same moment healthy and painful to discard these people. In many cases they share my genes, and although I thought I understood genetics, I can’t comprehend our connection. Then again, 70% of our DNA is the same as a sea slug. It crossed my mind that I must be like them, that shutting them out is just as hateful as exchanging insults. I’m not a psychoanalyst, but I do spend a great deal of time introspectively, and it has taken years to make these decisions. I love fires, but I don’t stick my hand in them.
It’s easy to take an approach of superiority, I choose not to. I’ve been damaged by life as much as they have, possibly more, but for some reason my response has been different. Maybe I’m just lazy, I find it easier to love than to hate. I don’t think it’s necessarily a sign of superior intellect, but that is my first impression. It’s possible that exposing your inability to get over something that happened decades ago by making up obviously false stories and spreading them on the internet is a sign of enlightenment, but I don’t think so.
I’ve just ignored the garbage for years. Lies don’t hurt me. But they do hurt my wife, so I’ve chosen to take this moment to talk about it.
All I can do is take my hand out of the fire, and apologize for any exposure to these people that you have to endure.