◊
Now I’m in a hole. Yesterday, I received a barrage of criticism. I was called vile. I was called diseased. Even my mother was upset.
One woman called my writing poison to her eyes. One man, on a depression web site, called my work trash.
Get this trash off our site. This is a place for families.
So my decisions, my actions, my memories, and my thoughts — basically my entire existence: not suitable for a family. That explains a lot.
My best friend Rae spoke up.
You can’t let that shit get to you man.
I did.
You can’t let this freeze you up.
It has. I hate it. I hate when I have to write about my writing troubles. It bores me. It probably bores you.
Rae said I have to ignore this kind of criticism, and I know he’s right. But the vulture’s voice is whispering in my ear. The croak form his throat is getting awful.
I told you. I knew it. They know you’re a fraud. They know you’re a weakling, a pussy, a coward, a worthless piece of shit who was always too fat to run. I told you so. No one wants to listen to you. They’ll get tired of your pathetic whining. They’ll walk away. They’ll leave you. Everyone leaves you. Alone. You’ll be alone again. Or you could just die. You could just kill your self. You should just die! You should just kill yourself! You should have died already. You’ve always known. You’ve always known. You’ve always known. You are a disappointing son.
Get this trash off our site. This is a place for families. I am not suitable for families. That really explains a lot.
◊
“I was called vile. I was called diseased.”
We all have diseases, Tom. Everyone has, or has had, some type of disease. However, not everyone is ready to ‘hear the symptoms’. But, that does not make us a vile person just because we can express them, no.
“One woman called my writing poison to her eyes.”
Bravo, Tom! Is that not what much of your writing is? Is your writing not about the poisons in your past and present life? It takes a great writer to release such “poisons”. No poison should be paradise to someone’s eyes. What a selfish person to want the writings of your pain to be her comfort! Keep releasing it, Tom. This is your antidote, not hers.
“One man, on a depression web site, called my work trash.”
A depression website? Someone told you that this was a place for families?
“Hey, hunnie! Hey kids, it’s Friday night! Let’s all check out a depression website!” Tom, really? It is a freakin’ depression website, man! Depression, in my opinion, is something worth overcoming for a family, not something that we are longing to share with them.