Hanging out in the library. Whoa. Haven’t done this in quite a while. I’m completely out of data at the house so I’ve been sitting around, day after day, watching an endless stream of DVDs. I had emails too important to not send so I had to find a connection somewhere. And here we are. It’s cool, there are two old men arguing about the relevance of Facebook and Google as one of them sets up a profile. I missed this. The quiet bustle of people searching for a good read or learning about computers for the first time. Not the arguing. Well, actually, they’re sort of entertaining too. I was struggling yesterday with the inability I have to fit in. After being talked about (not so subtly) by classmates and having this terrible internal dialogue about my worth and the inflexibility of my principles, I had a bad day. It wasn’t good. I imagine this is what condors feel like. They’re lonely birds, lacking the same social structure as songbirds that fly in flocks. They have to sit on power lines and tree branches, watching the other birds, wondering what it’s like to be socially accepted. Then, after longing and loathing, they have to eat, they have to dive into their midst and take one or two. Dominance is what rules nature. But as soon as they’ve finished and returned to their roost, they are alone again, watching from afar. This is how serial killers are bred. Like, for realsies. Isolation leads to desperation and desperation leads to drastic moves. Don’t worry (or report me), I’m not going to kill anyone. All I’m saying is that we like movies and stories about villains for a reason. We understand their plight, their longing to fit in and then the lack of empathy from the masses. We understand their frustration and pent up rage as again and again they are scorned and ridiculed. We are the ones that turn villagers into villains. Because we believe we are the kings and queens of this world, that we deserve to make others feel as downtrodden and ugly as we feel inside. Behind our masks, behind this façade, we are all villagers on the cusp, waiting to be pushed over the edge just enough that our status changes and the respect we long for is so violently ripped from those that refuse to give it. I read a piece last night about a serial killer that explicitly stated the only reason he turned to crime and violence was because that was the only thing he had ever been shown. All those that entered his life mistreated and abused him. He felt he should do unto others…so he did. In prison, on death row, he wrote his autobiography. It has been picked apart and analyzed by sociologists and psychologists and they’ve all been fascinated with their finds. Why? Because they believe, as he did, that he was not born a killer, he was molded into one by the cruelty he experienced. This has been proven time and again with those that commit mass murder in public places like movie theaters and schools. We are so quick to blame the individual but how many of these individuals can there really be? We want to blame the person because if we were to admit it was society, their upbringing and those involved in their life, we would have to cast blame on ourselves. And who wants to admit that they were the root of such evil? No one. If one cup of water comes up poisoned, shouldn’t be blame the well it came from?
Treat others with kindness. You never know what they’re going through. And you never know if you’ll be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.