I’m not really a fish. I’m a person. I have a first and last name, and even one in the middle. Here, though, I am a fish. I’ve talked before about writing anonymously. In that post, I said that I need anonymity to share, in order to really splay out my soul. That’s only part of the reason though. While it is true that hiding behind the fish makes it easier for me to talk about anything and everything, there is another reason that I don’t let you, my internet friends, really know who I am.

If you’ve read the entirety of this blog, which no one has, you would get the impression that there are certain people in my past that I would rather not find me. This is not undue paranoia. There are two people in particular–the two who have wronged me most in my life, the two that I would, quite honestly, rather see dead, the two that made me lose my innocence, my faith in security, justice, and well, faith–that make my stomach go all flip-floppy and my blood boil when I think about them, which is exactly what my poor, abused internal organs are doing now. I can feel the ire rising from deep within me. I hate that. I wish I could forget. I wish I could just get over it, but it’s not that simple.

If you can, imagine that you have no emotions. Imagine that you are a sociopath who cares about no one but yourself. Pretend that you are the type of person who could and would fuck with someone’s life in every possible way, either for your own sick enjoyment or because you have no feelings. You’re just bored. Imagine that you are capable of attempted murder of another human being or the violation of a child. You are not only capable, but you did. Now, imagine that the person that you wronged is still out there, trying to get over it and to forget all about you.

What would you do in that situation? Would you deeply regret your actions and realize that the best thing you could do for that person would be to leave them alone forever? Of course you would, because you, dear reader, are not that kind of person. But, remember, you are a child-raping attempted murderer. If you really were a child-raping attempted murderer, you would contact the person that you wronged and pretend that nothing happened. You would contact that person every few years just to erase any sense of security they have managed to build up and to try to assuage your guilt. No, guilt is the wrong word. If you a child-raping attempted-murdering sociopath, you have no guilt. If you are a child-raping attempted murderer with no emotions save your own vanity, the one thing you cannot abide is someone not liking you. If someone doesn’t like you, it means that your façade is broken, your mask has slipped, and you have no control over that person. You cannot tolerate losing that control. You don’t want them to forget. Even hatred is better than being forgotten, right?

I have an identity. I have a name and a face and no flippers. I am very protective of those things. They are all I have since I have no security, no protection from the past, no recourse, for I have emotions. I am silly with emotions. I have fear and loathing. I have disgust and mistrust. I have hate. But, I also have joy and love and laughter, something you, child-raping attempted murderers of the world, will never have. I have an identity, everything that makes up me. Yes, my identity is made up, in part, by what you put there, but there is so much more. I have survived and will continue to do so. I have strength because of it. I will not let you define me. I will protect my identity with everything I have. If you come for me again, I am ready.

I hate that these two people still have some power over me. I hate that they dwell deep within me forever. I hate that I still wake up in a panic in the middle of the night and reach for the baseball bat. I hate that I have that metallic taste in my mouth now that comes with adrenalin. I hate that my fingers are shaking as I write this. I hate that I’m still scared. I hate that I still have so much anger. I hate that I have to hide, but it’s better than the alternative. It’s better than coming face to face with evil again.

So, to you, child-raping attempted-murdering sick fucks that exist out there somewhere, I say, with all of my being, the most heartfelt FUCK YOU.

This post is part of the On Being Series.