E never liked me. Even before she met me, and she only met me once, she hated me. E came into my life in a roundabout way when I was in Paris two years ago. My best friend/friend with benefits of the past four years, Swede, was out one night, met E, took her home and they remained friends ever since. I returned from Paris to my life with Swede and things continued along.
Has he and she became closer and he was sucked into her world or those hipster type of folk who think it’s cool to be on food stamps and regard menstrual blood as some sort of art medium, Swede began to pull away from me. In an attempt to show that despite what this E person thought, I wanted to meet her. I had thought the meeting went fine. I paid for the cab to the party we went to in Bushwick, because I knew she was, well, on food stamps and told her, since she was trying to make it as a writer, then I could give her contacts. I thought I was civil. Swede agreed I was civil, but that didn’t stop E from sending him a text the following day telling him that she hated me and never wanted to see me again. Why? No reason, she just did.
We’ve all been hated by someone, and when it happens it really sucks. You question your abilities as a friend, a person, a member of society and everything in between. But E’s hatred for me didn’t stop there.
Last year I wrote for New York Magazine‘s Sex Diaries. If you’ve ever read them, you’ll know that they’re supposed to be anonymous. Outside of Swede and perhaps two or three close friends, she was the only non-friend person to know about it (he told her) and because of her hatred, whether it was steeped in some weird jealousy of my relationship with Swede or the fact that I was getting more writing jobs than she, she went so far as to out my identity. Not only that, but she provided links to my personal blog, my hometown, other things I had written and pieces of me that are pretty hard to find unless you’ve been given such information, which she clearly had by Swede. Of course the editors removed the information, but it didn’t change the fact that I had been outed when everyone knows it’s supposed to be a completely anonymous forum so people can be honest.
So when Swede and I had a blowout a couple weeks over ago after I caught him in a lie for the millionth time that isn’t related to this story, I finally lashed out at E. Knowing full well that despite all our other explosions that have had me running to corners of the world to survive a broken heart, this one between he and I was the finale of our chaotic relationship that somehow managed to last four years, I called E out on what she had done regarding the NY Magazine situation. Keep in mind, that despite my horror and disappointment, Swede always sided with her… perhaps, it was because in all her outing of me, she was kind enough to link to his blog as well.
So here I am nursing a broken heart, just having lost one of the great loves of my life and I receive an email from E. I debated posting it, but since it’s somewhat incoherent in its hateful speech, I’ll spare you. But the one kicker, the part that killed me most, was the fact that she told me I should just slit my wrists again and get it over with because no one would care.
As a blogger, I get hate comments quite a bit. When I wrote a piece where I sarcastically called Blake Lively a bitch, I got tweets for weeks about how I should just kill myself and save the world from my evilness. When I knocked Coldplay and Justin Bieber the comments were one step below actual death threats. And yes, each time you read a negative comment, you get shaken up, you cry and accept that you’ve chosen to put your thoughts and opinions out in the world and this is what you’re getting back. People just suck sometimes.
However, in the case of E, her email hit too close to home. As someone who has survived a suicide attempt that involved slitting my wrists, that email did something to me that I haven’t felt since I was that suicidal a few years back. Not only was my intensely severe struggle with depression being mocked, but Swede, someone whose lap I had cried into a thousand times, someone who had been welcomed into my family’s home for Christmases, someone whose very existence had been so important to me, thought that sharing that information with her was somehow relevant as a means to hurt me. And it did. It did exactly what she wanted it too. And when she hacked into my email to send messages from “me” to “myself,” I realized that there was actually a woman in the world crazier than me.
As I type this, I know that E is somewhere over in Bushwick hating me. I can’t change that, and I know someday it will make for a good story. I also know that, thanks to a sweet (read: evil) message I got this morning, Swede has blocked me in every social media type of way, email, texts, the works… I had already done that after her email, but it’s nice he pointed that out to me. I’m sure these two people, if we’re to call them that, who find suicide attempts funny and laughable are not the only people in the world who currently hate me. I’m also quite certain that they won’t be the last. I’d love to say that I hate them back, but mostly I just feel sorry for E. And as for Swede, well, despite it all, I can’t help but still love him a bit — that of course will take a trip to Paris to get over.
So how does one deal when you’re being hated?