When I was younger, my mom would always get on me because I read magazines and rarely books (this was Jr. High, mind you, I have since reformed), so, she would take my magazines away. Now, I won't do that to you, but, I will offer you a little reading for the day.... And, if you mom gets on you about your subscription to Vogue, you just tell her that you read a book today. (it may not be completed, but, we'll just keep that to ourselves, yes? Yes.)
Oh, PS. Amy, this post is for you--since you said you wanted to read more (thanks, for that, by the way)
Oh. And, you'll probably want a preface.... Well, blah, blah, let's make this short: I was involved in a court case a few months back, and as you know, the book is a fictionalized version of my life...This is basically, what happened when I had to testify last year. Seriously....
And so it continues.... (please remember that anything I post regarding the book, is not in order)
"People are mean. This is my big epiphany. We all wonder why we can’t have peace on earth. It’s because people are mean and until we have considerably less mean people on earth, it won’t be peaceful. True story. Remember that next time someone is going on and on about love and compassion and "why can’t we all just get along". You can’t get along with a mean person. No matter how hard you try--they enjoy being mean and spiteful. Like Scrooge. He enjoyed that. So does the Grinch. I’m sure Hitler enjoyed what he did. Stalin too. Castro and Chavez, perhaps.
Point is, there are mean people who do not believe in the "do unto others" thing--that is unless they want to be treated badly too, which, I suppose, is possible, but, most likely not. Hell.
Because I’m a total snooper, I read all the articles published in the newspaper about the court case. Which, admittedly, I shouldn’t do because it’s not always accurate and it’s not always the whole story, but, whatever. For once news is relevant! I’ve been reading them in actual print, just grabbing one when I’m running errands before or after court. I later began reading them online--big mistake.
Apparently, newspapers have allowed people to post comments on stories online. Well, that’s just opening up a can of worms. I’m all about freedom of speech and blah, blah, but, there is a time and place for commenting on people’s personal lives. It’s called the political arena. Now, until I decide to run for President (or marry someone who is), I think everyone needs to stay the hell out of my business. Apparently, numerous many people think that my life is their personal mud slinging ground. I missed this memo.
So, I made the colossal mistake of reading some of the postings--none of which, by the way, are very friendly. I mean, they don’t even know me or what I’ve been through. If I want to sue someone for negligence, I should be so entailed without having someone jumping down my throat. It’s my decision and it’s my business. How come if your mom is murdered you can sue, but, not in a case like this? Kettle. Black. Hello.
I of course, assumed that things would not bode well for everyone, but, I at least expected a little bit of sympathy. Hell, after she died, I couldn’t go anywhere without someone coming up to me and talking to me. I had the people at the photo counter at Target talking to me for 30 minutes. I tried to go tanning and the lady recognized my name and did the whole "oh sweetie". For months. Months. I was like a celebrity (a really boring celebrity who didn’t get free stuff). People knew who I was and what I looked like, it was incredibly awkward. I had no idea how four years would turn the tables.
My testimony was very hard. I had been Stonewall Jackson for everything and let me tell ya, people were worried. They had no reason to fret--I was in tears before I even walked up to the stand! I cried nearly the entire time, and it was quite dramatic because I had been told there would be tissues, and there no tissues to be found, so, the tears just kind of flowed down my puffy red face--until the bailiff (bless him) went and got me my own brand new box.
I didn’t mean to be so dramatic; I didn’t even think I would cry! I hadn’t cried at anything else (which did in fact include her funeral and burial and my deposition) why would I cry here? I was dead wrong and could barely mop up the tears quickly enough. Looking at pictures and explaining how wonderful my mom was proved incredibly difficult and painful. I thought I was going to die!
The headline read "Tearful testimony from daughter of victim"--doesn’t that just grab at your heartstrings? I thought it was a good article--it hit the high notes of my testimony and talked about how she won’t be at my wedding, wasn’t at my graduation and won’t be there next week to watch Johnny Depp take a stab (pun intended) at Sweeney Todd. In my mind, this is good. I was wrong.
The comments just ripped me to shreds. They said that I was just trying to "manipulate" the jury. No, I was telling them the honest to goodness story that was my life. They said I was just some spoiled brat who didn’t really love my mom—that it was all show. They talked about how I was a spoiled little girl looking to blame someone and how could I be so stupid as to think that a modern building was safe? My mom must have been dumb, blah, blah.
Wow, how does that work for your self esteem? Want to kill yourself yet? Yes, please. ..
These are the mean people that I was referring to. Who logs on to the newspaper website and feels the need to voice their opinion? I don’t remember asking for it. I mean, really. Is it necessary to share your opinion with all who shall see it? Do you really feel that important? Do you not have anything better to do? Can’t you go watch a soap opera or something? It just horrifies me that people do that. I think message boards are the dumbest thing ever--I feel like it’s a cyber playground fight. A bunch of bullies who have nothing better to do.
In cases like this, it’s near impossible not to totally fly off the handle. Which naturally, I did. While the article was rather favorable to me, reading the comments and thus public opinion launched me into a depression that neither Henrik, James Bond, Beluga caviar nor Christian Louboutins could cure. Really, I tried. The shoes just weren’t that cute. And that is a phrase that I didn’t think I was capable of saying. That’s how out of it I was. It hurt me so deeply and in such a way that I wasn’t sure how to react.
Sure, I was angry as hell, but, really, I just wanted to cry. I couldn’t believe that people felt this way. Especially regarding me. What did I do wrong? (to which I would respond, mentally "you have got to be kidding me")
I went into that depression mode where nothing can snap you back. I sat at home under a quilt my mom made and snacked on Hostess cupcakes watching Australian movies over and over again (anything for an accent). It wasn’t so much that I was crying as I was totally devastated. Is this how everyone thought of me? Was I really just a spoiled little rich girl? Didn’t losing my mom count for anything? Didn’t the last four years of hell earn me something?
And what about Henrik? Well, what about him. And his stupid stupidness. And his palace, and Antonia and perfect blonde hair and blue eyes. I hated Henrik just then. I hated him. I hated that I had let myself fall for him. I hated that I hadn’t just dated him five years ago; it would have spared me the agony I was going through right now. I just wanted to scream. I wanted to scream at him. And tell him that it wasn’t enough. That talking occasionally and the gifts and everything just wasn’t enough. I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t enough. I’d never be enough. I just, I wanted to die. I wanted to curl up into a ball and hibernate and wake up when this damned thing was all over….whenever that would be. "
© 2008
(seriously. steal this, my dogs will hunt you down. and eat you. well, maybe not eat you, but, it won't be fun. trust this. and, if my dogs don't get you, the cat will. and she's annoying. trust. you'd be better off just not stealing. deal? deal)
