Today, I saw I had a new message request on FB. It was some babyfaced little prick, who had simply said “Fat bitch”, and apparently blocked me afterward as I was unable to view his profile. Like any reasonable person, I first tried to report the message. But for various idiotic reasons, the form wasn’t working no matter what I tried. After a while, I decided I’d revisit the report later.
But then, I changed my mind. I was going to find this brat’s mother, father, anyone who gave a shit, and tell them what he got up to online. I’ve just spent two hours looking up this kid, including making a different Facebook account to check out his details. I know his town of birth, town of residence, high school, principal’s name, brother’s name, his favourite passtimes, even his favourite breed of dog and apparently the only angle he is able to take selfies from.
I know. That was nuts. But I’m sure all of you can understand the compulsion to try and actually do something, when some kid thinks they’re such hot shit that they can come into your messages and ruin your day. What I’m posting about in particular is, when my mother came home and I explained what I’d been doing all day, she immediately went on the defense for this kid. Not once in my life has she ever taken my side when it comes to issues like this.
Not when my now-ex’s older sister threatened to kill me, when she would glare at me endlessly whenever he was out of the room, and ended up giving me nightmares.
Not when the single creepiest kid you could imagine wouldn’t leave me alone at school, and I was forced to change my identity online.
Not when I was in primary school and was abandoned by my only friends at the time, who suddenly turned around and started bullying me as soon as a pretty boy started doing it.
The only time she’s tried anything different was when I finally admitted to her I’d been raped. And even in the years since, she keeps trying to placate my anger with “reasonable” concessions. She tells me I can’t let the fear rule my life, as if I didn’t know that and hadn’t been fighting it for so long that I didn’t remember anything else. She tells me she’s here to support me, until I’m having a panic attack over something she thinks should be easy, and I can hear her getting more frustrated by the day. She tells me she does actually trust me to make adult decisions, until she tries to take away the only coping strategy that’s ever worked.
I need some wine.