Dear Haters,

I know you never cared what I had to say before, but I think you’ll find it interesting that I agree with you.  I’m a loser. I’m annoying.  I’m stupid. I’m ugly. I’m rude. I’m heartless. I’m mean. I’m selfish. I’m inconsiderate. I’m worthless. 

You say to yourself, “What?  I’m not the only one who thinks these things?”  No, you are not.  I think them too, and get this: I even believe them sometimes.  Now, don’t get too excited- you’ve done a lot to reinforce them, but these thoughts aren’t originally yours- you didn’t put them in my head.  I did.  But wouldn’t you agree with, and maybe be proud of, the fact that it’s crazy, how much of an impact these ideas have?  Thinking this way about myself is one thing, but knowing beyond any shadow of a doubt that other people do too?  Sure does a lot to reinforce the concepts. 

If someone who is uninvolved ever reads this, they might think, “Well, this sounds a whole lot like bullying.  Why is she letting them get away with this?”  But it’s not as simple as that. You’re not knocking my books out of my hands as I walk down the hall.  You’re not sending me hate messages on the Internet or even taking a swing at me.  You don’t even do a good job of being bullies.  Because you’re not.

Your presence, your comments, your glares manifest you as yet another negative thought from the bowels of my psyche.  Your subtle hints of hatred, your transparent bouts of condescension wriggle their way into my subconscious and make their home with the negative thoughts that previously lurked there, just under control beneath the surface, but now wreak havoc on my mind.  So you’re not bullies.  Bullies fight people, insult them, tear them down for all to see.  There’s no word for passive aggressors whose attitudes speak volumes of pervasive negativity.

So I’d like to thank you.  Somehow, you saw or heard my demons rattling the bars of their cages, howling their desire to be released from my prison of intrinsic self-worth, and you took it upon yourselves, one by one, to let them out.  As they began to cause chaos, you sat back, watched, and chuckled, and every time I see you, your demeanor reminds me of your delight at the irreparable damage you’ve caused. And there’s no escape.

Because I’m still going, still fighting to restrain my demons once more, and still succeeding.  In fact, this battle has shown me something I never thought I would see: a window right to your souls, your deepest insecurities, your fears.  You know, deep down, that there are parts of you that are annoying, that are stupid, that are ugly, that are rude, that are heartless, that are mean, that are selfish, that are inconsiderate.  And maybe, just maybe, you think that you’re worthless too.  And you are all terrified that someone will find out.  But by accenting the parts of me that I wish I could erase, you’re only doing the same thing to yourselves.  That’s right, I know your dirty little secrets, each and every one of them. You hate yourselves just as much as you made, no, you allowed me to hate myself. 

I pity you, I really do. You’ll never get yourself under control that way.  You’re the ones with the problem, not me.  You are so irreparably broken, so detrimentally self-deprecating, that you resort to the worst possible belittling and criticism of the weakest, most defenseless people you can find to make yourselves feel better.  And honestly I think, I wish, that I could help you, or fix you.  But thanks to you, unfortunately, I’m a bit too busy fixing myself.

  Sincerely yours,

   A Better Person