On my hatred of humans: why I’m an emotional mess

The time has come to contradict myself. Too early you say? Technically only my second blog post you scream? Well the time is apt to discuss my duplicitous nature.

In my childhood when Mean Girl at school would earn her nickname I would often go home feeling bad about my mind, body and spirit. I have since learned the crushing bore of normality this situation represents. Mainly by Father’s words of wisdom telling me to get over myself. Yet the thing I held onto in my childhood and early teens was that eventually we shall all grow up and have real problems. Hold the weight of the world on our shoulders as newer generations take our place. Why yes, I was an annoyingly precocious child.

Now, onto the contradictory nature of this post… I have previously mentioned my love of trains. I do happen to think they are an interesting way for us to be anti-social together. Yet this wholesome thinking has, in the past, been marred by my overwhelming hatred of people. No not you glorious reader. I love you. No I mean other people. You know the ones.

Case in point; the other day as I was on my way to catch my train I was blocked by a human. This human was a casually dressed big boned adult male. Yeah, a fat guy who looked like he had gotten dressed in the dark. Poor attempts at civility aside I was trying to go up the steps from the left side, as per the rules, as other people alighting from the last train were coming down from their left.

I maintain I was in the right but the problem was that I was the only one going up with 50 or so people coming down on both sides. And so what occurred was a ‘stare-off’ of about 4 seconds with this…gentleman. And when an individual twice your size has the higher ground, is looking at you like he wants to kill you and you actually need reach your train, you move. So, I did. And it was working very well until he decided to shove me anyway… hard.

uncool Jerkface…

Graceful specimen of a female that I am, I did not fall. Also there were people everywhere and finding any ground to fall on would have been an accomplishment. I simply moved on. Inside, however, I was seething with annoyance at this complete non-issue of a situation. Not at him, more at myself. See the problem is not that I had to deal with a jerk. The problem is that I let it get to me.

This is nothing new. Despite my awareness that Father was right all along, every variation of Mean Girl I have met has left me crippled with this self-loathing. I am a firm believer that others don’t hurt your feelings, rather you let your feelings get hurt. Emotions must always be within our own realm of control.

Yet I am still affected by these small moments. Facing rejection, verbal or non-verbal, breeds insecurity in me I never thought I had. When we say people are jerks on the tube, it seems like a very vague assertion of our non-jerkness seeing as we are, technically, people. Someone reading this may be a commuter…and I’m sure you’re lovely.

It took me over an hour to simmer down. And even then I decided to write a blog post about it! This has happened many times and is likely to happen again. I don’t break down and cry (ahh the teenage years) but there was an inward reaction of hating myself for feeling things.

The problem with public transport is that mere snapshots of other peoples’ lives lead to us acting like jerks. I have thoughts and opinions. I am an interesting individual. Yet all you see is my fleshy self, hurrying to catch the train. Look at it from the other perspective, maybe Jerkface’s pet dog had died and standing in his way was entirely my fault. I don’t know!

Perhaps I’m the one who needs to grow up. ‘Twas a moment, I should have let it go sooner than I did.

I’m only saying all this because I realised people are actually reading my posts. You all should know how mental I am. For those that are following my madness, thank you!


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