I heard that you were talking shit
And you didn’t think that I would hear it
People hear you talking like that, getting everybody fired up
So I’m ready to attack, gonna take you out
That’s right, put your pom-poms downs, getting everybody fired
up

A few times I’ve been around that track
So it’s not just gonna to happen like that
Because I ain’t no hollaback girl
I ain’t no hollaback girl

When I was driving today I heard this song, and instead of changing stations I listened. The lyrics made me laugh. (Well, the B-A-N-A-N-A-S part made me cringe, really.) The rest made me laugh. Because today I discovered that there is a pathetic section of online people who can’t get past 2002, who think I’ll be divorcing S. soon because he shut down D-X, and who feel sorry for my kids because I’m so mentally ill. (I mean, extremely ill. Completely nuts. Whoo. Looney. Yeah.)

I actually paused for a few minutes to give some consideration to their comments. I have two (and a half) beautiful wonderful amazing precious children, a husband who loves me and whom I love with my whole heart, a great (albeit at times frustrating) job that pays well and gives me freedom and a good sense of running my own business, a cute dog, a nice place to live, a car that runs. I have a family who loves me, and friends who are there through thick and thin. I’ve seen my share of emotional times, and I’ve had the ability to write about them in an online journal. I’ve grown, I’ve loved, I’ve experienced happiness and pain, and I’ve been successful in what’s important to me.

So, if that’s mentally ill and completely unstable, I’ll take it. I enjoy my life. I mean, I’m content the majority of the time. I can’t say I’ve been in that place much in my life.

So I figure, let the haters hate. To them, I’m just a couple journal entries where I let my heart hang out (which wasn’t in a good place at the time anyway), I’m stories told by a jealous, insecure bitch, and I’m a cheap/easy shot for snide jokes. It’s all fun and games until the gun’s pointed back at you.

Believe me, for every time you make fun of someone, you’ll be made fun of just as hard. You just don’t know when your time will come. The haters hope it hurts. They are just bullies on the playground. I teach this lesson to my son, who has a form of autism that makes him particularly susceptible to bullying and teasing. He’s a fine young man with good character who needed that lesson so he knew how to take care of himself. I thank these haters who helped me experience it firsthand so I could teach Justin how to deal with it.

As time went by, and the haters kept hating, I learned something about myself. I don’t care what they say anymore. For some reason, in 2002 it hurt. I guess I was more bruised by my life than I could admit. But now? Four years of health(ier) relationships, cleaning up old messes made, four years of realizing that some people will always love you AND some people will always hate you - I don’t know - it must have brought me to a better place, a stronger place.

I feel sorry for people who have nothing better to do but publicly cut down others. Do they feel so superior that they have to look down on everyone? Or is it more that they feel so inferior that they have to cut people down to build themselves up? (Ugh, I had a boss like that at my last job. He was such a dick. People would laugh with him when he cut someone down - until the someone was them. Then it wasn’t so funny.)

Like I tell Justin, you can’t control other people. You can’t make them like you, and it’s not worth anything to try. Just let them talk until they are blue in the face, and eventually they move on to someone else. In the meantime, know you are important and special and that anyone who says anything to the contrary doesn’t know a damned thing about you. They just like to think they do.

This shit is BANANAS,
michelle