Normally I write my blog before going to bed and then set Blogger up to automatically publish it. Last night, though, I couldn't do this. I sat in front of the screen for nearly an hour trying to figure out how to write what I wanted to write. I finally shut it down and gave up. Joe asked, 'Aren't you going to read me your blog?' It is our habit that I read him my blog just before going to bed. I told him that I didn't know how to write it. He said, 'I know, who would believe it?'
You see yesterday we, the two of us, were victims of such a wanton act of cruelty and meanness that it left us reeling. Stunned. Afterwards we sat together for nearly an hour without speaking. Each of us trying to understand, each in our own way, a specific, targetted, purposeful act of mean-spirited cruelty. Each of us was left wanting.
Throughout the whole of the rest of the day we revisited the event, tried to find an explanation for it. Each saying, 'I didn't do anything' as if 'doing something' would have explained it ... would have made us deserve it. Why is it that victims look at themselves to explain another's cruelty. Perhaps it's only right because I'm sure our tormentor blames us too ... simply for being. Maybe that's reason enough to hurt someone else.
I can't even tell you about it. I can't even begin to write down the events which have caused me such personal distress and pain. Partly because I simply don't trust my talent with words. Partly because I don't trust my objectivity in explaining it. Partly because, maybe and I'm sorry, I don't trust that you will entirely understand - and I need understanding more than anything.
So it will be, for now, a tale left untold.
But I now know, truly, that meanness has no cause but will. People will to be mean, people are cruel because they can be. I have never ascribed to the 'he was hurt by his mom' ... 'she was having a bad day' ... explanations of cruelty anyways. Now, I know that people who can, will, people who want to will take any opportuntity.
I am not always the innocent victim in my stories.
I am now.
Mean people suck.