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I was a racist for years. I was a lot of stupid things. I swallowed all the bullshit my family fed me. I swallowed it all whole. As I grew older, I tried to squeeze into their silly little molds. I kept failing. I tried a little harder. I got heartache. I tried really hard. I got married.
I divorced her a year after. I’m not sorry at all. I had no choice. She was like a fucking anchor around my neck, and I’m not drowning for anyone. Fuck her.
Anyway, it took me years to realize that I’m not very good at being someone other than myself—in fact, I really fucking suck at it. And I have evidence to back that shit up. I’ve tried to be a lot of people. I’ve been the violent guy, because my culture calls that manly. I was the lifting weights guy. I lugged hundreds of pounds around for hours just to bulk my muscles. It was fucking ludicrous. My body still aches from all that lugging. How much did I bench? 265. So, fuck off!
I’ve even yelled at women — a lot of women, sorry. My father taught me to. I was really little. I didn’t have a chance. You asshole.
Anyway — again — most of these people just didn’t interest me. They bored the fuck out of me, actually. In fact, I hated a lot of them. Seriously, I wanted to kill a couple of those assholes. Ok a few times I almost tried to.
That’s all behind me now. I’ve had it. I’m exhausted with the lying. I am myself, god damn it! I am Tom Hardie. He is me. I’m really a pretty good guy. Some people find me distasteful. I know. I’ve heard it all. I’m intense, inappropriate, lewd, destructive, unholy, self-righteous, whatever. The delicate people should just pass on by. I know that I’m more than a mouthful. So ignore me. That’s fine. You do whatever you must. So will I.
But don’t ask me to care. You can’t ask me to care. Because, and I’m sorry, I truly hope this doesn’t offend anyone deeply—you are all so delicate and fragile and shy—but I don’t give a fuck about your rejection.
Good bye.
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Ok so I’m writing this public blog. The whole world has access. And I’m claiming that I don’t care about rejection. Of course, that’s bullshit. Of course I want acceptance. I want to present my naked self to world and have the whole fucking planet gather around me, hold hands, sings hymns to my magnificence – that sort of thing.
In reality, I’ll settle for thirty percent. If thirty percent of the people who see me aren’t completely turned off, maybe I’ll feel better — maybe that quiet little suicidal voice will finally stop talking.
Thank you, Patrick. It’s worth a try.
It’s nice blog-sharing some of you to the reader.
Hope that your ‘quiet little suicidal voice’ will stop soon.. =)
*nice to blog.. typo error there..
30% is shooting high – I go for 0.1% – that still leaves several million.
One of the things about blogging is your audience becomes self selecting – those who like your writings will come back and those that don’t won’t.
Sometimes, you get assholes who like to leave comments just to wind you up. At those time, just remember you can delete them. Very quickly they learn it takes them longer to write their poison than it does for you to click delete. If you engage with them, they win – it’s what they want.
I came over here from Sang’s blog. Wishing you all the best with this part of your journey
Hi Tom
Writing about yourself and your life in this manner is very brave. I did something similar when I started my own blog, perhaps for less serious reasons than yours, however it was and still is cathartic way of dealing with stuff. Two things happened: one, I rediscovered that I love writing, two, I learned a lot about myself by seeing it all written down and it has helped me grow and evolve in a way.
I hope it helps you as well. And i do write because I want to and for myself, but I can’t deny that it is nice to know that people are reading it!
Love your words and let them be your life’s antidote.
Thank you for the advice, Kim Ayres. I am just trying to be as honest as possible.