Haters Gon’ Hate


Well, you know, it was bound to happen at some point. Some idiot on the Internet stumbled here and decided to graffiti my comments with foulness. Here is the comment:

 

Why is it always about you Fina? Why are you so desperate for attention that you have to try to make every situation about you, try to shock people with your language and always try to make everyone who reads this junk feel sorry for you. Sorry girlfriend. You just need to get a life, and get busy living it instead of lamenting about “poor unfortunate you” every time you get on the net. Your life is no more important that the millions of others out there, but fortunately they dont feel the need to have to bring theirs to the spotlight. You do have a problem. Its called “Poor Me Syndrome”. The only cure for it is to reach out and help others who are much worse off than you. If you do this, you may actually see how vain your life is, and what the importance of living is about.

 

I’m assuming this person doesn’t know me personally because, if they did, they would never have written that I need to reach out and help others who are much worse off than myself. 

I’ll also assume that they haven’t taken any amount of time to read through the archives. 
And, if they have, I’ll say that anyone who thinks I should shrug off what I’ve been through is, clearly, ignorant.

Finally, I’ll say this:

Dear friend who used a fake email address to write an anonymous comment on my blog. Your first mistake was asking why my life is more important than anyone else’s. Obviously, it’s not. I’ve never said that. You’re more than welcome to walk away from my blog and never come back. Unfortunately you chose to comment. So now here is what I have to say to you:

You’re on my blog. It’s my release. My escape. A virtual hide-a-way. I didn’t personally invite you here. And, quite frankly, if I want to talk about loving cheese pizza I can do that. Unfortunately that’s not the biggest of my worries. Unfortunately, I’m dealing with things that I dare not wish upon anyone else. If you’re sick of hearing me talk about the issues that are most important to me, forget I exist and move along. Oh, and for the record, PTSD is a disorder. I’m living with it. That’s what’s wrong with me. 

Next time you want to judge someone else, take a few minutes to get to know them. I’ve laid it all out for you to do that. Did you take that opportunity? No, probably not.

My one true gift in life is giving to others. And if your goal was to offend me, your ignorance to my duty and work did just that. As an educator, I feel it’s absolutely vital that you know all of the facts before you judge someone else. Clearly, this lesson didn’t sink in during your schooling. I’m so sorry that happened to you. 

****

Haters Gon’ Hate. 

 

 

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9 thoughts on “Haters Gon’ Hate

  1. fina, you’re such a sweetie. your note to this anonymous commenter was so gracious.

    allow me:

    dear anonymous coward:

    you are a fucknut. and you have no life. and you’re a hypocrite. fuck off.

    yay, that was fun. now darling, be a dear and send me their IP address so i can make sure they don’t follow my blog or my twitter.

    luv ya.

    xo

    • I love you too! Thanks for being such a great friend. And for seeing that I was REALLY trying to be kind. Now, of course, I’m done. This person clearly wants to engage in some sort of argument.

  2. Hooray for someone finally saying what we were all thinking, anonymous commenter.
    FYI, PTSD is hiding under your bed when you hear a chopper coming, years after you were in the war. Please stop giving people with real PTSD a bad name.

    • If you were smart, you’d use a different computer so the IP address wouldn’t show up the same, you fucking imbecile. I was being polite before. Please quit coming here.

      Also – ‘real’ ptsd is something that is induced by trauma. Yes, soldiers are diagnosed with it. They have panic attacks and anxiety from it. So do victims of domestic abuse and rape. There is no difference; both of these are, unfortunately, traumatic events.

      Now, please do not come back. I have no more words for you or time to waste on you. Clearly you have nothing better to do than attempt to piss me off. And, since you’re somewhere near Moscow Mills, I’ll assume that we have met and you’re attempting to aggravate me intentionally. Good try. Move along.

  3. Hey idiot soldier, I’m a veteran, so knock it off with the arrogant and ignorant comment about what “YOU” think PTSD is. PTSD is being GANG RAPED by your fellow airmen when they are supposed to be part of your unit and by your side, not on top of you. PTSD is when your boyfriend repeatedly smacks you in the face because you talk too loud.

    So why don’t you SHUT THE FUCK UP, because you don’t know the HALF of PTSD. THE FEMALE HALF.

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