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  • people who are unable to plug in a USB cable.

  • people who do not know what a CCV number is although the page in front of them is explaining in words and pictures.

  • people who cannot distinguish between the Asda website and the Amazon one even when invited to look at the address bar.

  • people for whom Gmail login is a complex process which cannot be attempted without supervision.

  • people who fail to clear their browser history after going to porn sites.

  • people who don't realise that they actually have to submit their Amazon order before they can get their stuff.

  • people who require another person to accomplish the following tasks for them: printing, scanning, bittorrenting, changing their wallpaper, installing Windows updates, remembering passwords, submitting forgotten password requests.

So, you know, when I encounter trolls it is scary to reflect that these people, simply by virtue of getting themselves online and managing to type ungrammatical shit into text boxes, are slightly less stupid than those I deal with on a daily basis. No wonder I have zero faith in humanity.
ambergris: (Default)
My single sister is whining about how much she hates Valentines Day and I am like, meh, whatever. I cannot get upset about this stuff anymore. Celebrate whatever holidays you want, this one has nothing to do with me.

This is what bugs me about so much feelgood self-improvement rhetoric. This idea that everyone has a right to be loved. No. It is not a right, it is a privilege. Everyone else on the surface of this planet has the right not to love you, and their right to choose trumps your sense of entitlement. If you're a child then your parents have a duty to love you incurred by their decision to inflict life upon you; but people neglect their duties all the time and it's not as if love is something which can be compelled. So no.

Which makes me think, not for the first time, that love privilege is a Thing, because clearly your life is going to be substantially easier if you are easy to love, and something of a struggle if you are unlovable. If you have people who care about you, you will cope better with whatever other shit life has to throw at you. And not everyone does. I keep googling variations on 'how to recover from depression when surrounded by abusive people' and there is NOTHING out there. There is plenty of advice on disentangling yourself from abusive people, but it is heavily reliant upon you not being depressed and having non-abusive people who are willing to help you, ignoring the fact that interacting with abusive people is fucking depressing and that they are also really good at cutting you off from non-abusive people. Not that they needed to make the effort in my case, since by the age of about twenty I was like 'ok, enough of this crap now, NO MORE PEOPLE.'

I was just so damn tired of everyone turning out to be untrustworthy. Still am. But I don't delude myself that I somehow deserved any better, because people are what they are, and I am what I am, which is not pleasant enough to draw pleasant people to me. I am not good at pretending to be nice; and even if I were, I would be reluctant to add falseness to my list of flaws. You only get found out in the end anyway.

Sometimes I wish I lived in the Middle Ages, when hermitude was a valid lifestyle choice and the church would give you the means to pursue it. There are some people who are just not a good fit with society, and we should be allowed to wall ourselves up in our cells, dreaming our dreams and thinking our thoughts, without third parties trying to control our behaviour or guilt-tripping us about our failure to be 'normal'.
ambergris: (Default)
I feel genuinely sorry for extroverts.

For Christmas dinner I got this random old woman inflicted on me because my pseudostepmother is addicted to picking up waifs and strays. This, like most so-called altruism, is so she gets to feel good about herself rather than because she actually gives a shit about anyone else. If she were genuinely a compassionate or empathetic person she would realise that inflicting random strangers on three people with varying degrees of SA, without even bothering to consult them first, is pretty damn selfish. (For that matter, she wouldn't keep 'borrowing' her daughter's disabled badge either.) But anyway. Said old woman happens to be the most boring person I have ever met. Even my nan, whose short-term memory has been reduced by Alzheimers to that of a goldfish and who asks repeatedly what time it is and which members of her family are dead, is better company than this woman, who can only discourse upon her love of sprouts and her desire to make it to a hundred.

What the fuck for? I thought. What do you have to look forward to but talking at strangers? Give me a choice between spending my Christmas by myself and inflicting myself upon people I don't know and who don't even want me there, and it is a no-brainer. It is like some horrible parody of what Christmas is meant to be. Because these waifs and strays invariably do have families, who clearly want nothing to do with them, and I cannot help but wonder whether this is connected to their obnoxiousness. Apart from anything else, if you are obnoxious then your offspring will probably be too, which makes it difficult to sustain healthy relationships.

And rather than try to mend fences with her granddaughter, this woman would rather go and talk at random people whom she has no actual interest in. I am quite sure she wouldn't be able to tell you my name, let alone how old I am, or where I live, or what I do for a living, or what I was doing at that dinner table in the first place. She wouldn't even be able to tell you whether I like sprouts. She just wanted some ears to talk at, and it didn't matter that I only issued two words in reply and barely looked at her. She didn't notice. She didn't care.

I suppose it is a step up from small talk, in that at least she has given up pretending to be interested in the other person. (The insincerity of small talk is what infuriates me. It puts my teeth on edge.) And it is a relief to be able to abandon the pretence in return, and stop fretting about your own social cues. But I would rather be struck dumb for the rest of my days than be reduced to that kind of fear of being alone.
ambergris: (Default)
A short selection of things my family have considered it acceptable to say to me in the past year:

  • No wonder you have no friends

  • You have had every advantage in life. You're just too lazy to get a job.

  • You can find yourself somewhere else to live

  • Why don't you just kill yourself?

  • I hate the sound of your voice

  • You are dirty and disgusting and you smell

Then there are the more subtle forms of abuse by outsiders. The pseudostepmother who thinks it's OK to make you stand in the corridor when your dad is in intensive care because 'it's a different kind of love'. The pseudostepfather who pretends you don't exist. The waitresses who pretend they can't see you, the cashiers who demand ID even though you have grey hair, the Big Issue sellers who hassle you. All the little unkindnesses.

My sister's best friend lied to her that she had cancer. My pseudostepmother omitted to mention the fact that her rich husband was twenty-five years her senior and had a granddaughter. My mother lied for over a decade about having an affair. I don't know anyone who is honest. I don't know anyone who isn't judgmental. I don't think I even know anyone who is nice.

It is a lot like my phobia of dentists, actually. It doesn't deserve to be called a phobia because it is entirely rational, and justified, and based upon empirical experience. And when I overcome my fears, it turns out that I was right to be afraid. Guess what, dentists do inflict unnecessary pain on you in exchange for vast quantities of money! Just like they did before you stopped going!

I was scared of traffic even before a car knocked me over. If I'd been that little bit more anxious, it would have saved me from getting in an accident and the greater anxiety that resulted from that. Yeah, anxiety stops you living life to the full. But sometimes it's the only thing which keeps you alive at all.


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October 2013

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