Michelle's House of Horrors

There’s no such thing as an original sin.

–Elvis Costello/I’m Not Angry

 

Elvis may be right about that, and certainly you would think by now we’d have run out of new ways to be rotten, but I am continually amazed by the things that people are willing to do to each other. Inflicting pain and horror for..for what?

I don’t pretend to be a paragon: I’m inpatient, self-centered, sometimes unkind and more than a little thoughtless–but I don’t think I could live with myself if I did anything really awful. Scanning the news shows me horrors I could not even imagine myself performing. Raping children? Keeping a houseful of women hostage for years? Using Serin on a town?  Blowing up a jet full of people?  Serial killing? Genocide?

I don’t think it’s possible for me to understand what motivates these monsters. I’m hesitant to call them people, although I assume they started out as people at some point. The one thing I do understand is why so many monsters either kill themselves or commit suicide by cop in the end.  If I did something so horrendous, I’d want to be dead too, but what kind of person would want to shoot everyone in their school?

We really want to understand. When something happens like the Newtown shootings or the Boston Marathon bombing we try to analyze the criminals and understand how their minds work. They must be different from the rest of us in some way. If they aren’t, what does it mean about all of us?

The thing is, this shit has been happening (if you go by the Christian Bible) since Cain slew Abel because Grampa Jehovah was being kind of a creep about the side dish Cain brought to his pot luck. Leave it to God to tell you to bring “whatever” to the party and then reject your vegetarian dish because his favorite grandson brought lamb. Most of us manage to go through live without killing our brothers, even if Grampa played favorites even more than Jehovah did. Does. It was a rough start to the human race, and we don’t seem to be improving as we go along.

Some people seem to go rogue from too much power. Others because they feel powerless. Some are raised with so much abuse that maybe they don’t know what normal is any more. There is an obvious difference in what motivates a dictator and a bullied teen who is lashing out. Does it matter though given that the end result is the same?

I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does. If we could figure it out, it seems like we would have in the thousands of years there have been people on the planet.

People and monsters.

 

 

 

Let me tell you a story cuz it’s all I can do.
–McKinley/Citizen Kane

 

Back in the late 90’s, going through a bit of a rough patch, I started to realize that maybe there was something really wrong with me when I was complaining to a friend about my job. He told me that I was way too smart for my job anyway, and  should find something to do for a living that wasn’t a complete waste of my brain. I responded “I can’t get another job. I don’t know how to do anything.” He rang off, very annoyed with me for talking like that about myself and then it struck me that it probably was a Very Bad Thing that I honestly believed I didn’t know how to do anything. Realizing that it was a bad sign that I felt that way  didn’t make me realize that it wasn’t really true, but it did start me wondering if maybe there was something a little more wrong with me than a bad attitude.

There was.

I was depressed.

Of course, since depression is really good at making you believe that you and everything in your life suck,  that there is nothing that can change it, and that in fact everything would be a lot better if you just weren’t around…well…it’s not like I could really figure it out on my own. Someone intervened and forced me to do something about it.  Even depressed and semi-suicidal I was lucky. It pays to surround yourself with good people.

It took a long time to rebuild relationships that had fallen apart during the time I was not myself.  I didn’t enjoy my own company, and others probably liked it even less. Gradually, I got myself back together again. Started seeing people again. Acted like a human being again, as much as I ever do. I’m still not great at acting like a human being. You’ve probably noticed that.

So what am I good at? Now that I’m not depressed anymore, I should be able to answer the question.

I’m definitely not good at  being depressed. I mean, I survived it. Probably if I’d been better at it, I wouldn’t have.

I’m really good at having people around me who are better than I deserve. I’m not being self-effacing, it’s true. My people are wonderful. I have a lot of nice traits, but I’m definitely nowhere near as great as the people around me.

I’m an excellent reader of fiction.

I am better than almost anyone at learning something new, becoming proficient at it and recommending ways to improve it. New bosses love me.

I am a moderately good knitter with excellent taste in yarn. Need cashmere? I probably have some. I’m like a meth house for yarn addicts.

I’m a mediocre singer, but I sing all the time anyway because it makes me happy. I’m not sure what that’s being good at. Being happy, I guess.

Being happy is definitely one of my talents.

I’m really excellent at at least one thing  I cannot write about. Yes, my career in the Secret Service.

I have a talent for quietly saying something that no one was expecting. Usually something funny. Sometimes something…uh…pointed. Or spectacularly profane. That’s a talent, right?

A talent that I’m choosing not to indulge these days is the ability to completely ignore someone who makes me angry.  It’s unfortunate that it’s so bad for me, because I am very good at it.

I am cultivating an ability to forgive. This is something that I did not aspire to until very recently. I am making excellent progress.   If you did something to piss me off at some point in the past, check back with me.

You may already  be forgiven.