(no subject)
Aug. 1st, 2002 08:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kuangning... sometimes, I look around and I wonder where the hell I fit. Because it isn't the places where I thought I fit anymore.
It's not my idea of fun anymore to sit and watch a verbal gang rape. I remember the motivations -- I remember the feelings of superiority, of vindication. Because the target was wrong and we were doing our part to protect the world from idiocy, right? We were the elite, the best and brightest, the ones who saw clearly, and the target was inferior and thus undeserving of respect, or pity. We took aim with words, we used them like knives, and we congratulated each other on our accuracy and the obvious and the unobserved but assumed damage. Clean strokes counted, critical hits were acclaimed. We were sharks in a feeding frenzy, and each new hint of blood in the water drew renewed attacks.
And if you aren't a shark, if you don't enjoy the hunt, then you are inferior. And if you say you don't agree, then you become the next target. Well-intentioned, of course, because now you are wrong, and must be set right. With the same definition of "right" that every group uses -- agreement with the group.
I'm tired. I'm shaky and nauseous and I know that someone who ignored the warning is furious with me right now and wondering, "well, if you don't like it, if you think we're so horrible, then why don't you just leave?" And no matter how much I say that I don't think you're horrible, it's not going to make a difference. So... why don't I leave? I dunno. Because I'm still trying to hold on. I'm trying to both not lose anything more and be more of who I need to be. Right this second, it's not working. Tomorrow may be different. But, fuck, I hope not. I hope I never again think it's okay for a group to rip someone to shreds for no better reason than boredom or because we can.
It's not my idea of fun anymore to sit and watch a verbal gang rape. I remember the motivations -- I remember the feelings of superiority, of vindication. Because the target was wrong and we were doing our part to protect the world from idiocy, right? We were the elite, the best and brightest, the ones who saw clearly, and the target was inferior and thus undeserving of respect, or pity. We took aim with words, we used them like knives, and we congratulated each other on our accuracy and the obvious and the unobserved but assumed damage. Clean strokes counted, critical hits were acclaimed. We were sharks in a feeding frenzy, and each new hint of blood in the water drew renewed attacks.
And if you aren't a shark, if you don't enjoy the hunt, then you are inferior. And if you say you don't agree, then you become the next target. Well-intentioned, of course, because now you are wrong, and must be set right. With the same definition of "right" that every group uses -- agreement with the group.
I'm tired. I'm shaky and nauseous and I know that someone who ignored the warning is furious with me right now and wondering, "well, if you don't like it, if you think we're so horrible, then why don't you just leave?" And no matter how much I say that I don't think you're horrible, it's not going to make a difference. So... why don't I leave? I dunno. Because I'm still trying to hold on. I'm trying to both not lose anything more and be more of who I need to be. Right this second, it's not working. Tomorrow may be different. But, fuck, I hope not. I hope I never again think it's okay for a group to rip someone to shreds for no better reason than boredom or because we can.
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no subject
Date: 2002-08-01 10:11 pm (UTC)My one group of friends, hates someone from another group of people I am only sort of friends with.
They tear this girl to ribbons verbally, and they are so nasty you could not believe it. They have created nicknames for her that would make you croke. But I always wind up joining in, no matter how rotten it is, or how much I am ashamed of it later.
And...I have a twisted sense of humor. I mean, I was successful once at improv comedy before I gave up my career in the arts. Some of the most biting and nasty nicknames...are things I came up with. On the spot, in the middle of the moment...just to watch everyone laugh.
If she ever heard these nicknames, or knew I was the one who came up with them...it would hurt her so much.
So, why the fuck do I do this? I just don't get it.
Sorry to jump in here with my confessional, but sometimes you just get me better than I get me and have insights and this all sounded too familiar to how I feel sometimes.
Hugs, Bahboo
why?
Date: 2002-08-01 10:32 pm (UTC)I think, actually, that this issue is where you came in, the first comment you ever made to me. It's something we promised to work on, remember? I'm trying. I know you are, too. *hugs.*