HUMILIATION

I was raised never to hate any human being for any reason. But since my late mother can no longer read anything I write and since this is my party and I’ll cry if I want to, I’m going to just throw the honesty cards out on the table: as I’m sitting here, I hate a little.

I hate that there’s another…AAAAANOTHER…leak in one of my outdoor water pipes. Damnit, now I must open my gate for people and I must put on a bra and dress civily and interact with humans in a manner that resembles something higher up the food chain than a well trained chimpanzee.

But more than anything I hate when people humiliate other people.

I hate it because when I’m humiliated it takes me days to recover and feel worthy again. There is nothing wrong with my self-confidence but humiliation…well, you know, I’m sure.

But mostly I hate it because seeing other people humiliated is like watching someone being abused at home: you see the slow erosion of self-worth and there is not much you can do about it.

A few weeks ago a student of mine spoke to me in a manner that really made me feel small and useless. She is from a rather wealthy family, absolutely breath-takingly gorgeous, and probably used to getting what she wants. And what she wanted was something I couldn’t give.

But boy oh boy. I received it right in the gut. She became really personal and the more she vented, the more I just wanted to drop into a hole in the earth.

Anyway, I was thinking of this again because I phoned my brother today. I could tell immediately something was not ten/four. So it turns out he had to do a presentation in a pretty important meeting. The company director was also at the table and posed questions about my brother’s findings as he discussed it.

But see, my brother – who is also a manager – has this way of repeating questions put to him as a way of remembering it. Apparently his director took this as a form of disrespect, thinking that my brother was somehow mocking him, I guess. He ripped into my brother and screamed at him like he was 6 years old. He kept on going for 15 minutes while my brother was standing in front of the room like a schmuck.

My mom used to say: it’s hard to see good men hurt. This is of course no slight to my sisters out there, but I agree with my mom. And today, it was hard to see my little brother a broken man. He did not deserve the dish he was served…

I don’t know what it is with some people, hey? What is it about their brains that make them think it’s okay to treat people like crap? And listen, it’s not like I’m a saint, I’ve spoken to people badly and I’ve hurt feelings, I’m not known for my lack of temper, baby. But I scoop my pride into an empty ice cream container and go apologize where I screwed up. I try to make it right. Most people do.

But that bully-mentality…causing pain for some sick sense of self-aggrandizement…I wish hemorrhoids upon that type of human.

You see, now I’ve thought myself even more angry. Wine is the only remedy…

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