Although I have not blogged in a few months (more on that in another post, I suppose), I received a new comment last night. An anonymous comment. A really, really long anonymous comment. I’m not going to copy and paste it here, but I will sum up some of the key points for you guys:
- My blog is lame and I am lame. (relevant video)
- I should stop trying to impress people because…
- Nobody likes me.
- Nobody reads my blog.
- I am full of myself.
- I am a big slut.
- In closing, Amy Brown is the worst. Fuck Amy Brown.
- Love, anonymous
I’m sure you weren’t expecting a response, anonymous, but you did take the time to write to me. It only seems polite that I take the time to write back. And here’s what I have to say:
Your comment made me really sad. Not for myself, but for you.
I don’t really care who you are. I don’t know if I’ve done something to you or not – although if I’ve done something to you, I’d rather you approach me about it so I can apologize. What I do know is that you took time out of your evening to write a 200+ word anonymous hate letter. Or maybe you didn’t take time out of your evening. Maybe writing a hate letter to me was all you had planned for your evening. I’m not sure which one seems sadder. But let’s talk about it.
It’s okay that you don’t like me. I don’t expect everyone to like me. Let’s be honest: there are PLENTY of people and things I don’t like. But you know what I do when I don’t like stuff?
I try to minimize its presence in my life.
You, on the other hand, seem to like to wallow in your discontent. I get the feeling you’re the kind of person who might friend me on Facebook or hate-follow me on Twitter, just to roll your eyes at everything I do. “Look at this bitch,” I imagine you saying out loud when I do something of particular annoyance to you. “Who does she think she is?”
The only person you’re really hurting is yourself, though.
I am not trying to impress you, anonymous.
If I knew for a fact that I was the only person who read this blog, I wouldn’t stop writing. I don’t write for you. I write because it’s what I love and it makes me happy. If you think it’s lame, I don’t care.
In closing, you are allowed to think that I am the worst. But maybe you should take a class or pick up a hobby, because thinking someone is the worst shouldn’t be one of your main interests.
Take care of yourself,