Last year, a vlogger named Nicole Arbour blew up the internets for talking about how much she hated fat people. I remember watching her video and thinking to myself, “What a sad, angry person,” and chalked it up to daily frustrations with encounters with fat people, in addition to ignorance about her own image and how she came off to others on video.
Last night, for reasons now forgotten, I decided to look her up again. What I’ve found is that she appears to be a massively hateful bitch with nonetheless a number of supporters.
Since now, more than ever, I’m clueless about who I am, I couldn’t help wondering if I came off as a mini-Nicole Arbour after the post and videos that I put up last May. Hateful, spiteful, completely in disregard of everyone’s feelings.
Maybe if I’d been brave enough and articulate enough to explain myself to everyone instead of dashing off retaliatory posts about the perceived hostility, it wouldn’t have all been a useless waste. That is, maybe it would’ve been a chance for me to share my story and touch other people’s lives in a positive way, instead of being just another random internet battle.
I don’t know.
I’m turning twenty-two soon and I feel like I know less and worse than I did at twenty-one, if that’s at all possible. Lost so many people along the way. And am back to that state I described nearly a year ago, of being “empty” – except then I was so sure it was “the kind of empty that is ready to be filled with good things.”
When a person feels like this, what is the recourse? When you feel like the world would get along fine, or maybe even better without you, what’s the necessary defense against the obvious solution? One of the easiest things to do would be to agree with the perceived opinion, and let that be your reason. “I’m a hateful bitch? This isn’t half as hateful as I can be.”
Is that why Nicole Arbour is the way she is? Someone so seemingly lacking of empathy must have some kind of traumatic origin…
Maybe I just fear a descent down that slippery road.
My life thus far could be described as a series of mistakes from which I struggle again and again to earn redemption. “I’m not a hateful bitch, everyone just thinks I am.” That’s subjective, though, so… I am?
It’s a title I never thought I’d wear, but neither did I think that about “slut” and “whore”.
Maybe it’s time to just forget all about it and move on. But being who I am, I feel the need to ritualistically earn my redemption somehow. Apologise to everyone I’ve hurt. I don’t know how to do that. Especially when I think everyone’s moved on but me.