jamelah.net

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

ah, the joys of internet superstardom. ahem.
There are reasons why I hate the internet. Reasons that I will never be fully capable of explaining. Suffice it to say that when I got my first e-mail address back in 1996, I had no idea what I was going to be getting myself into. I got my first inkling the following year, when I, not even a high school graduate yet, started getting adoring fan mail from a fortysomething man who liked to think about what my voice would sound like in his ear as he drifted off to sleep.

Since then, there have been lewd photographs, offers to fingerpaint poetry on my back, invitations to six continents. Declarations of love. Confessions that I am The Muse.

There's also been hate mail and death threats. Among other things.

I have been called beautiful, perfect, genius, brilliant, idiot, stupid, moron, retard. I've been called a bitch, a witch, a skank, a slut, a whore. A prude. A goddess. A statue. Lifeless. Cruel. Empty. Shallow. Hollow. Fake. Worthless. Mentally ill. Obviously abused as a child.

You name it.

I get this in my e-mail and I read it on websites. If it weren't so stupid, it would be funny that everyone else is entitled to have an opinion about me or that they can tell me what they think it would be fun to do to me if we were ever alone in the dark or that they can say whatever they want to say to (or about) me with no regard to courtesy (because it's always okay for someone else to attack me, but never okay for me to defend myself).

I learned a long time ago that it's best to ignore the crazies, lest they get high on sudden attention. I also learned a long time ago that it was necessary for my mental health that I build a pretty impressively tall, thick wall between who I am as a person and who I am on the internet. Because if I let everyone else's insanity invade my life, I'd have been institutionalized a long time ago. But the thing is, sometimes I get tired of taking everything in stride. Dealing with it by keeping a raised eyebrow and my mouse poised over the delete button.

I know this happens. I understand that I am not the only person in the world that is a neverending source of fascination for psychopaths, weirdos and perverts, but I can't help that I have a really hard time figuring out the reasons why. Perhaps it's because I have the upper hand and I actually know myself. And guess what, boys and girls? I'm not that interesting! Seriously! I'm quiet, and when I do talk, I typically say the wrong thing. People think I'm a snob, but actually, I just tend toward shyness and I get nervous around those I don't know. I'm awkward, I bite my nails and my hair is a raging communist. Sure, I'm really sarcastic and I can be quick with a razor-sharp comeback, but you know, I was the nerdy one all my life, so I learned how to fight with what I had. I snort when I laugh. Come on. Cool is something that I'm not.

So whatever. I know that there's basically no point to writing all of this, because another thing I've learned is that I can't control what other people think. I guess I just want to say that even though people are entitled to their opinions, I'm sick of knowing what they are. Because they are, without fail, wrong. I'm not evil. I once accidentally hit a bunny with my car and cried for an hour. I'm not going to sleep with you. You're a specter of pixels.

I'm not a fantasy. I'm a human.

I'm human. Just bear that in mind, psychopaths of the world, okay?





posted by jamelah
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