I had something of an epiphany last night.
So there I was, getting all worked up and knotting myself into a little ball of emotions over the whole concept of being hated for things beyond my control. And then warinbear
asked me why I was so worked up about this.
I figured it out. Hatred, to me, is an incredibly personal
emotion. It is as personal and deep as love. In fact, to me, it is the flip side of love. For me, the idea of hating someone that you do not know is a next to impossible concept. So, I hear folks ranting about women, or gays, or polyfolk, or Pagans, or whites, or what have you, and I take it personally. Very personally. And it twists at me and bothers me and gets under my skin and hurts
And then Warin reminded me that I'm the odd one out when it comes to hatred. That for most folks, they need to turn the object(s) of their hatred into a faceless mass to truly be able to hate them.
So, it's not about me
. There's nothing that I'm doing that's causing me to be hated, it's something that they're doing to themselves
I had always thought that if I was just nice enough, and friendly enough, and enough of a polite, accepting, sweet, good
person, that I wouldn't be hated. I'm not going to change from trying my best to be that kind of person. Hells, that's the kind of person that I am
on an average day, never mind on a good one. That's why it got under my skin so much when someone hated me anyway. I was convinced that I'd screwed up somewhere.
Now? Now I'm just going to be that nice person, and remind myself that the problem is with the bigots, not with me. Maybe they'll be able to see me as a person. Maybe not. In any case, the vinditive part of me is cackling with sadistic glee at the thought of being persistently nice and friendly to them.
After all, it's bound to bug the everlovin' shit outta them.