An anonymous caller from the Gold Coast area decided that I should start my Wednesday with this email:
Wow. You are a moron. THe most important thing that I have gathered from reading your blog is that people like you should not be allowed to breed. I hope you die by rape.
Obviously I was pleased to receive this information and the important questions that it raises. As someone who has been an active participant in the decision not to breed, and who stares at her children’s brains day after day, waiting to see if they will crack, I do feel that it is the duty of strangers to ensure that this sentiment is reinforced as often as possible.
Mostly, though, I am surprised that my blog could incite these kinds of feelings in someone to such a degree that they could be arsed filling out a web-based form. For the most part, I write about things that matter only to me. I am an introspective, anxious person, spending a lot of time inside my own head, especially on paper/screen, and my suspicion has long been that this is what comes through on my blog–a kind of wafty beating of words that is primarily self-serving and not of much interest to anyone else.
I’m obviously very open about mental health and the challenges it brings, but my political, religious, ethical opinions don’t get an audience here. That writing about writing, anxiety and love could inspire someone to hope that I “die of rape” strikes me as a little odd. Isn’t that sort of hateful language reserved for feminist writers and Daily Life staff? Or, you know, people who actually say things, rather than just writing words that sound pretty together? Suddenly I feel that I don’t know my blog at all.
I’m Anna, a digital strategist and writer who likes to drink 'Ice Tea' but doesn't understand why it's not called 'Iced Tea'. By night and occasionally morning, I eat things, write things, berate my children, walk my dogs and hug my chocolate.