I got an email today from an old friend and co-worker, who brought up the fact that I don't blog very much anymore. My response was that I rarely get comments, so it feels often times like I am speaking to no one. And I've always had a hard time blogging my real feelings, the hard parts, my inner truth. Then comic bloggers became huge and I didn't feel like I compared, so I just stuck with my less than exciting approach...occasional stories from the everyday.
So today, I decided to write a blog post. I logged onto blogger to find that I had 11 comments awaiting moderation. Wow! 11 comments is an avalanche to me. 9 of the comments were spam. No surprise there; I get a lot of spam.
But there were 2 comments posted anonymously by an actual person who read 2 different posts and felt the need to comment.
Both of the comments were very nasty, and I was a little shocked at first. I am not a prude in the least, but apparently I am more naive than I thought. I figured if I didn't say anything polarizing, didn't talk about religion or politics or how sometimes I want to run far, far away from home, then I wouldn't have people hating on me.
I was wrong!
After 30 minutes or so, I got over my jaw dropping shock and started to get angry. How dare someone who doesn't know me say mean things to me under the cloak of anonymity? And if you do know me, I must have done something really bad to piss you off so much.
I forgot that I'm not still in high school, where the mean girls rule and everyone else just shuts up. I had a stalker in high school, and it wasn't any fun. (If it's you, Kathy, I certainly hope you got some help for your mental health issues, you crazy bitch.)
You obviously read several of my posts, enough to comment on the fact that I don't have a job and have plenty of free time. Are you jealous? I do have plenty of free time; I am a lucky girl. I have a husband who works very hard to support our family so that I can stay home. There are days when I would switch places with just about anyone on the planet, and there are many more days that I am incredibly grateful. I worked for many years. I still work, every day. I just no longer get paid for it. I hope that my kids can appreciate (one day, in the distant future) all the things that I do for them that they take for granted. I will only have them with me for a short amount of time, and I don't want them to feel like I didn't pay enough attention to them while they were home.
I struggle every day. I struggle to find balance between being a mom and being a woman. Between being a mom and being a daughter. Between being a mom and a wife. I struggle with depression. I struggle with my weight. I struggle with feelings of inadequacy. I question every decision I make. I regret the choices I made in my past. I hope to make better choices in the future. I hope that my family knows how much they are loved. Every day.
I'm no longer mad. I actually laughed at the second comment. I was poking fun at myself, calling my hair hot (it wasn't in the least) and you clarified it by telling me I was fucking NOT. And that my ass looks like 5 pounds of chewed bubblegum. I may be overweight, middle aged, and unemployed, but my ass is anything but fat. I wish it were a little rounder!
So, thank you, internet troll, for reminding me of how good I've got it. I have great friends. I have a great family. I have a damn good life.
And you can suck it.
