aggravated assault, or on the violence of being good
Saturday, January 3rd 2026
good morning dear reader!
it seems that all of my writing these days should come with a trigger warning, mostly because the topics of discussion seem too sensitive, but i’m slowly but surely becoming annoyed at always warning people that the topics in my writing might be challenging for them. so moving forward i won’t be doing that. i did however already schedule a few articles for the next part of the week that already feature the trigger warnings and i edited them several times already and wont be going back to take them out. what’s done is done and that is simply how it must be. lets just leave the past in the past.
amongst the things that have been weighing on my mind (the most annoying of which is the usa rapid descent into fascism and what that means for myself as an “undesirable”) is the fact that i am feeling stuck. yes, stuck. offensive, frankly. stuck between a rock and a hard place. the rock being my insistent need to prevent myself from crashing out and the hard place being a promise i made to be kinder to others that resulted in the people pleasing, problem making, chaos casting senselessly self victimizing people i have both surrounded myself with and worked with in the last year. which is exactly as miserable as it sounds.
obviously, this has resulted in what can only be called a hurricane of suppressed emotions metastasizing inside of me, waiting for the right moment and the wrong person to be unleashed upon. and that anticipation had me realizing that i am in fact probably not a good person, but also that i don’t really give a flying fuck if i’m a good person or not.
cruelty has shaped me into who i am. this is not poetry, it is truth. it was not the love of others but the love of myself that released me. love is who i became. which at first glance is miraculous but resulted in me mimicking the patterns that shaped the miserable fucks that’s crafted me in the first place. hurt people hurt people. healed people can also hurt people.
not nice.
not kind.
monsters in the flesh of men,
always have been.
yet here we are.
cosplaying humanity while knowing deep down that what exists inside us is not softness, but gravity.
there can only be softness for self. and in that discovery (or rediscovery) i realized that something needed to be done. some choice had to be made because squashing my beef, having grace for other situations, and spreading understanding was getting me no where but deeper and deeper into the pile of other people’s shit that i was sent to shovel. and i will be fucked if i am gonna shovel another person’s shit.
so i stopped being nice. i stopped phrasing things kindly. i stopped extending grace on command. and the path opened again. some people—including myself—will mistake authenticity for mental illness when it isn’t packaged as a pleasantry. but some people are just evil.1
i believe in curses. i was trained to believe that my rage, my viper-like wit, my greed were curses—that i was bad for having a thirst that could not be quenched. i am selfish. i am cruel. i am demanding. a princess of greed. and i will say to someone plainly: i am not a good person. i am only good to you because i like you. the response is always the same: oh no, don’t say that about yourself. you’re so kind. you’re so obviously good.
there is the real curse.
