(Editor Comment: I actually have a date for this one. 28/03/15)
Fuck creative people. All those bloody musicians masochistically practising for hours, those bloody artists who work for decades to pursue their visions. Fuck you and your goddamn life-enhancing soul-moving works. All you critics who spend actual time and effort to create prose that is both entertaining and enlightening, fuck you.
While I’m at it, sod all of you entrepreneurial types who shove themselves out there in the hope that it will enrich someone’s life. Where the fuck do you all get off? I turn on my computer every day and I’m surrounded by you. Yes, I have to crawl through a lot of dross. A lot of dross. The screaming crowds of hate are still there in the millions. But I know you’re there, oh yes. Creating online communities of mutual interests in a positive environment no doubt. Or publishing articles that leave me feeling like I’ve learned something – god you make me sick.
I remember a time when the internet was a murk of hate and bile. A time where entire forums looked like Daily Mail front pages; nothing but thinly veiled fear and loathing. But no. You had to make the world a better place. You had to care. Now there are positive places. Now there are people consciously trying to not use racial slurs as insults. More and more I’m finding videos that are devoid of ingrained sexism. I’m coming across entire communities that rally around causes in a kind and informed way. I’m coming across people apologising to each other after arguing online – what the frozen fetid fuck!?
Laci Green. Laurie Penny. Quintin Smith. Paul Dean. Eliezer Yudkowsky. Caroline Haines. Philippa Warr. Brendan Caulwell. Dr Doe. All of Shut Up & Sit Down, all of Rock Paper Shotgun, Avery bloody Mcdaldno, what the hell do you think you’re doing? I’m not even going to edit that list – those are all just names immediately sprang to mind from things that have made me a better and happier person today. There are thousands of you. It’s like the fucking Renaissance of human improvement. All putting yourselves out there. All making your art. Making me laugh, teaching me things that school should’ve, making me aware of ingrained societal bias and giving me the tools to undo the damage. I’m so angry I can’t even.
But you don’t stop there. There is, of course, the final sin. Oh yes. Worse than any of this, you’re starting to rub off. Like a goddamn rainbow in my brain. You’ve helped me start to write again. After a nearly decade of suicidal depression and paralysing fear, you’ve got me pushing myself every day to try and create. You. Bastards. I’ve started to go outside again. I’ve started to speak up when people are sexist. I’ve started a bloody WordPress account and I’m letting people read it you fucks. What was wrong with me fantasizing about killing myself on a daily basis? What was wrong with me being so scared of leaving the house that I physically beat myself up so I could pretend I’d been mugged? What was so bad about being so unhappy and exhausted that my body physically shut down for weeks and I couldn’t even form a sentence? But no. You had to help. You didn’t even do it on purpose, which is just twisting the knife.
And now? Now I can sing to myself again, if there’s no one in the house. Now I can write something down without immediately deleting it in disgust. It’s hard, oh holy hell is it hard. But I do it. Day after day after day. Because of you. Because you’ve forced me to see that you have an effect. Because you are normal people who are quietly touching and bettering thousands of lives. And now I feel like maybe I can too.
I hope you’re all fucking proud of yourselves. You wonderful, beautiful people.