Enemies

That which is loved to be hated.

The Answer: “Not a Damn Thing”

The Question: What’s wrong with Xavier? I have been hearing that a lot the last few days. And my answer to that question seemed to be a perfect way to title this post.

I guess my actions of late have upset some. Apparently, I have been acting out of character. Funny. I hear those words, but my brain translates that into “Why aren’t you letting me walk all over you anymore?” Language is a funny thing. Words have meanings in themselves, but when arranged to form a sentence or thought, it is up to the listener to determine understanding of those words; lately the understanding people have been trying to convey to me is not the understanding that I myself have be getting.

For years, I have been a “go to” person. Always there to help, listen, shoot you in the face, etc. For years, I have walked the borderline between good and evil; those on my good side have always been honored and loved. Those on my bad side, or of whom I have no opinion have been subjected to what had to happen at the time. Within that matrix have been friends who turned out not to be such, and I still kept my loyalty.

Until recently. Recently, I just decided that I needed to start cutting loose the deadweight. I have begun saying: “You know what? I am done accommodating and feeling cheated like some cheap whore in an hourly rented hotel room. I am sick of placing people on pedestals and treating those I call friends as the highest on my list only to be forgotten, left behind…neglected.

I decided it was time to go back to my roots and stop being jaded into believing that my actions would be returned in kind. This has been a long time coming; my sense of altruism slowly being replaced by wanting something in return. Now it is blossomed into a wondrous sense of not giving a fuck, and trying to carve out a sense of peace for myself.

I have learned that I am totally responsible for my own happiness and that waiting for the Karma bus is a long, cold wait. My optimism may finally have been turned to a seething cynicism that tells me the truth, burning away the mote from mine eyes and revealing a knowledge that I had denied, had never wanted to accept. I am no better or different than anyone, why should I be treated so?

With that thought, I arrive at the answer for those who claim I am not myself, for those who wonder wrong with me. The answer: nothing. Absolutely nothing. I have become just like you.

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“Living well is the best revenge.”

Thank you, George Herbert; while I appreciate your statement, I cannot say that I agree. I first ran across that quote when I was in elementary school. You see, attending a school for nerds is a double-edged sword: on one edge, you are an easy target for bullies – they know where to find you. The other edge gives you tools: vocabulary, insight, literacy, etc. that give you a means to wittily assail those who resort to brute force to intimidate and belittle. However, that sword ends in a nasty deadly point: both sides combined provide the aggressor with a weapon of irony that cuts both the bully and the bullied, yet provides the bully with the handle and the deadly point directed squarely in the eye of the victim.

But, I digress.

A fellow nerd had just finished amusing a group of asses by being subjected to their various torments, and I asked him why, since he was taller than the other boys, did he not just punch one in the face? He may end up getting beat up by three, but at least he would have gotten one of them, and besides, that one punch may have been the one that shook the morale of the others in the troop, prompting them to desist with their shenanigans and leave him alone. Mind you, this was not an attempt to convey any bravery to a friend, I would have acted just as he did (and had done so in the past). My mind was geared toward survival: I believed that had he attacked, even if he got his ass kicked, it would have kept the fiends away from me another day. However, if he had been successful, and put the Fear in the bullies, then we nerds would have a champion and we could move about in peace. He would have to maintain his status at times, perhaps, but that was not an issue for me…

The first part of his response was that they were telling him to leave because he did not belong where he was, the second element of his response was to babble on size being irrelevant, the hydrogen atom and the energy created when split, and not making assumptions about the power of the assailants based on their apparent size. Big things, come in small packages, was basically what this fellow was telling me, and that I already knew; his words were not going to prevent any further attacks. He then added: “Living well is the best revenge.” To me, his future of living well for revenge was not changing the fact that while he was still where he was and had not left, it had changed the fact that he did not belong there. That he was not wanted there. And nothing would change that.

He had a plan, it turns out. He was going to use his superior intellect to get wealthy, the ignoramuses would be working for him and be subject to his whim. He figured that he would just bide his time. He suggested that I do the same. And so, that is what I did. I kept up my grades, got involved with the band and other band-things, and even enjoyed a moderate bit of popularity in High School. But the damage was done. I was tortured by the idea that I did not belong. That I was too different. That I was consigned to my own Private Idaho for the remainder of my life.

Still years later, I was using my superior intellect to lord over those who victimized me in the past. I have a wealth that I cannot calculate. Some of those that were my personal criminals have become public criminals and are living as residents of the penal system. Despite all of what may be consider wellness of living, I am not getting the best revenge. That is not to say that I have it bad. I live rather well, to be completely honest. My problem is that I am not completely sure that I am living well what I need to be living well.

To me, life has been a quest to understand and to be understood in kind. That may be a common theme to humanity, but I do not wish to make blanket statements. It has never been enough for me to simply look around me and be content. It has never been enough to live my own intellectual version of the “abominable fantasy,” to look at my former tormentors burning in their own private Hell has never been sufficient. I have always had a desire to be accepted, to be understood, to be validated. I wanted to be what I was and meet others like me and live a life with a collective of like-minded people who wrote together. Danced together. Ate, slept, fucked, ran together. I have always wanted to belong to something; I live the life of an outsider who wants to constantly peer inside.

But the Hell of my past tormentors keeps me from staring down and enjoying their suffering. The reason behind that is because I have not fully enjoyed my own personal Heavens: dangled before me like a grapes before Tantalus, they are stripped away just when I have grown to realize what I have. As a result, when I should be getting the best revenge, I find myself living of life of constant nostalgia for the images that were once present before my eyes. While I may see myself above them, they still have that one thing to hold over me, that one thing that was their weapon: I still do not fit in and still, I do not belong.