I have this dream of the newspaper the Daily Mail (also known as the Hate Mail, the Daily Fail and various other names that usually contain the c-word) publishing an vicious attack on me, when once I'm well and working. I hope they'll really push the boat out and get so desperate that they only mention in passing whatever achievement of mine they think is going to threaten their fascistic way of life, and clutch at the straws of making digs about my appearance or mental health or something. You know, really go in for comment on my frizzy hair and messy eyebrows, or, even better, try the mentally unstable card, try to infer that I'm dangerous- that would be something. Not least because the Hate Mail is about as subtle as a sledgehammer, and so their attempts at inference are always hilarious, but also because it's at the point that a person in an argument starts making personal digs that they have intellectually lost. If you're debating a serious point and you get somebody attempting to insult you, they've lost. They can't make an intelligent point, so they get personal. Debate over.
The reason it's the Hate Mail that I really want to throw muck at me is because there's not another mainstream British news source that I have less respect for. Apart from the right-wing political parties, there's probably not another mainstream institution of this country I have less respect for, in fact. The Hate Mail is insidious, and, at times, pretty dangerous for the unsubstantiated bile it vomits out. I think you know if you've really made it when you really get beneath the skin of your opponents and they can't brush you off anymore, they just have to lash out. Ambivalence is far worse from your opposition than hatred is- hatred takes up energy and effort and that's when you know you've done it. There's something victorious to be gleaned from knowing that you've won, almost that somebody has fallen for whatever it is they're accusing you of, especially when that's just a side affect of you living your life and you're not actually trying to win.
As I've written before, my psychiatrist has of late taken to essentially verbally exsanguinating (that's my word of the week- it basically means to bleed dry) me, at my fortnightly ward rounds. It hit me hard because, unlike the Hate Mail, I had a lot of respect for the man; we haven't always got on, but I always respected him. I've decided though that I need to, in equal parts, take on his words and make sure that I'm not doing as I'm accused of- being manipulative, intellectually swiveling (which is another fun word) my way out of things and abusing my intellect- and, on the other hand, to let him say what he wants and, just, well, go with it. This is a bit of a drawn out way of saying H8RZ GNA H8 (to those over 25, that's 'haters gonna hate'). It's all good. And, as the psychotherapist reminded me, when I'm out of this place and I'm a free woman, being intelligent will probably never again be an insult and my so-called 'manipulative' (I still struggle with that, because it's pretty much inherently bad. but I'm pretty sure it's just part of being intelligent) streak ought to be what makes me successful.
A few staff members have now taken to referring back to what the doctor has said in dealing with me, but I'm pretty sure in that case it's just to shut me up when they're afraid of losing an argument with me. It's stupid, because I'm not here to fight or to try and get one over on staff, and that's what it's becoming, with some of them. It's as if they're trying deliberately to get one over on me by upsetting me when I'm actually just trying to have something clarified (I have the annoying trait of needing to understand the ins and outs of things, which I think comes across as me trying to 'out-maneuver' staff) But all I can do is put my head down and let it go. H8RZ GNA H8.