âWhen you are hurting, there will always be people who find a way to make it about themselves. If you break your wrist, theyâll complain about a sprained ankle. If you are sad, theyâre sadder. If youâre asking for help, theyâll demand more attention. Here is a fact: I was in a hospital and sobbing into my palms when a woman approached me and asked why I was making so much noise and I managed to stutter that my best friend shot himself in the head and now he was 100% certified dead and she made this little grunt and had the nerve to tell me, âWell now you made me sad.â When you get angry, there are going to be people who ask you to shut up and sit down, and theyâre not going to do it nicely. Theirs are the faces that turn bright red before you have a chance to finish your sentence. They wonât ask you to explain yourself. Theyâll be mad that youâre mad and that will be their whole reason alone. Here is a fact: I was in an alleyway a few weeks ago, stroking my friendâs back as she vomited fourteen tequila shots. âI hate men,â she wheezed as her sides heaved, âI hate all of them.â I braided her hair so it wouldnât get caught in the mess. I didnât correct her and reply that she does in fact love her father and her little brother too, that there are strangers she has yet to meet that will be better for her than any of her shitty ex-boyfriends, that half of our group of friends identifies as male - I could hear each of her bruises in those words and I didnât ask her to soften the blow when she was trying to buff them out of her skin. She doesnât hate all men. She never did. She had the misfortune to be overheard by a drunk guy in an ill-fitting suit, a boy trying to look like a man and leering down my dress as he stormed towards us. âFuck you, lady,â he said, âFuck you. Not all men are evil, you know.â âThanks,â I told him dryly, pulling on her hand, trying to get her inside again, âSee you.â He followed us. Wouldnât stop shouting. How dare she get mad. How dare she was hurting. âItâs hard for me too!â he yowled after us. âWith fuckers like you, howâs a guy supposed to live?â Hereâs a fact: my father is Cuban and my genes repeat his. Once one of my teachers looked at my heritage and said, âYour skin doesnât look dirty enough to be a Mexican.â When my cheeks grew pink and my tongue dried up, someone else in the classroom stood up. âYou canât say that,â he said, âThatâs fucking racist. We could report you for that.â Our teacher turned vicious. âYou wanna fail this class? Go ahead. Report me. I was joking. Itâs my word against yours. I hate kids like you. You think youâve got all the power - you donât. I do.â Later that kid and I became close friends and we skipped class to do anything else and the two of us were lying on our backs staring up at the sky and as we talked about that moment, he sighed, âI hate white people.â His girlfriend is white and so is his mom. I reached out until my fingers were resting in the warmth of his palm. He spoke up each time our teacher said something shitty. He failed the class. I stayed silent. I got the A but I wish that I didnât. Here is a fact: I think gender is a difficult and personal topic and people that want to tell others what defines it just havenât done their homework. I personally happen to have the luck of the draw and identify as female in a female body, which basically just means society leaves me alone about this one particular thing. Until I met Alex, who said he hated cis people. My throat closed up. Iâm not good at confrontation. I avoided him because I didnât want to bother him. One day I was going on a walk and I found him behind our school, bleeding out of the side of his mouth. The only thing I really know is how to patch people up. He winced when the antibacterial cream went across his new wounds. âI hate cis people,â he said weakly. I looked at him and pushed his hair back from his head. âI understand why you do.â Here is a fact: anger is a secondary emotion. Anger is how people stop themselves from hurting. Anger is how people stop themselves by empathizing. It is easy for the drunken man to be mad at my friend. If he says âHey, fuck you, lady,â he doesnât have to worry about whatâs so wrong about men. Itâs easy for my teacher to fail the kids who speak up. If weâre just smart-ass students, itâs not his fault we fuck up. Itâs easy for me to hate Alex for labeling me as dangerous when Iâve never hurt someone a day in my life. But Iâm safe in my skin and his life is at risk just by going to the bathroom. I understand why he says things like that. I finally do. Thereâs a difference between the spread of hatred and the frustration of people who are hurting. The thing is, when you are broken, there will always be someone who says âIâm worse, stop talking.â There will always be people who are mad youâre trying to steal the attention. There will always be people who get mad at the same time as you do - they hate being challenged. It changes the rules. I say I hate all Mondays but my sister was born on one and sheâs the greatest joy I have ever known. I say I hate brown but itâs really just the word and how it turns your mouth down - the colour is my hair and my eyes and my favorite sweater. I say I hate pineapple but I still try it again every Easter, just to see if it stings less this year. Itâs okay to be sad when you hear someone generalize a group youâre in. But instead of assuming theyâre evil and filled with hatred, maybe ask them why they think that way - who knows, you might just end up with a new and kind friend.â
â By telling the oppressed that their anger is unjustified, you allow the oppression to continue. I know itâs hard to stay calm. I know itâs scary. But youâre coming from the safe place and they arenât. Just please ⊠Try to be more understanding. /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)
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