I feel that perhaps I have misled you.
Don't misunderstand. I have grown to adore you. It has enlivened me in such an unexpected manner for me to have come to know all of you. And I say this all with unabashed candor.
However, lately, I have received such lovely comments and messages from some of you, that my mind is heavy with concern. I worry that you have misjudged my character with all of your kind words.
You see, I have to come clean. I have to tell you the truth.
I am a misanthrope.
I cannot deny it any longer. I am a categorical hater.
No? You don't believe it. Well, I have incontestable proof. There are hundreds, nay, thousands of people in this world who, if confronted with a picture of me, would have innumerable foul words to describe me. I know this to be true. I have heard them myself.
It has seriously caused me physical stress that one of you lovely people will come to the restaurant where I work and see what a horrible monster of a person I am.
People say these things to me on a daily basis:
"Can't you just smile?"
"Why do you have to be so mean about it?"
"What's your problem?"
These same people snarkily tell one of my best friends (and underappreciated coworker), g8s, similar things:
"She's a nasty bitch."
"She's an asshole."
"Someone should fire her."
g8s, who has to love me because he is my friend, is forced to defend me. but there is no defense. i'm all out of love. . .
If you were to see me in waitressing action, you would see a nasty version of me. I scowl. I growl. Behind the counter, I mutter over and over like a possessed woman. God, I hate people. God, I need more to drink. The liquor isn't dulling the pain. I need something stronger.
And lately, it has come to my attention, that I approach every table with my arms slightly bent. My legs are spaced slightly apart, giving me the stance of a boxer. I am always ready to fight. To defend myself. Because, I don't trust anyone. I assume the worst about every person I encounter. I am not mean, necessarily, but I am certainly not kind. I often feel that there is no light left for me to give. I can't even fake it anymore.
Today, I pay my respects to the old hags. The witches in the fairy tales who forgo the glittery promises of insincere princes and instead, choose self-imposed banishment into the dark recesses of the forest. For today, I understand why a woman would choose to find that path into the primoridal greens that cannot be retraced. To build herself a home for her cauldron and her cat, where she could live in peace and never have to suffer another fool.