An Especially “Vile Human”
That’s What You Said, Right?
This one’s for you, Patty. Or is it Patti? I know, Patricia.
Am I supposed to care? Because I don’t. Turns out, my basket of fucks is empty when it comes to people like you, and it has nothing to do with elections, or votes, or anything else like that. Although you thought it did. Nope — it has to do with your sheer stupidity and your willingness to be outwardly hateful.
Yep, there I said it. And I’ll say it again and again because someone like you will never learn anyway.
But here goes.
Did you ever meet someone so awful, so nasty a human being that they lied about having a life-threatening illness — like cancer? I mean, we’ve all read about these people. Many of us know about the upcoming HBO Series, Anatomy of Lies, about Elisabeth Finch who wrote for Grey’s Anatomy. Finch fabricated a story about having cancer and used that fake history to write several episodes of the hit series. Influencer Belle Gibson claimed she cured her brain cancer thanks entirely to changes in diet and lifestyle.
I would think that even worse than those people, though, are the ones who claim that someone lied about having cancer when the person actually did have cancer.
I mean, why would someone take a person’s pain and fear, their most difficult personal time, and then be so cruel and disgusting as to say callously, “yeah but that never really even happened to you, so fuck off.”
I have a tough time imagining that without tangible proof, that someone would be so incredibly vile. And yet, here we are. That’s what one bitch in particular did.
Hi there, Patricia Tronetti. Patty. Patti. Patsy. Pat. We see you.
See, this lovely human piece of…whatever… got her gossip from a cousin or cousin-who-married-a-cousin in my backwater hometown in northern Pennsylvania and recently decided to repeat it on Facebook (go ahead, check out her profile, see what she’s about, tell her I said hello).
My hometown, as I have mentioned before, is tiny. Maybe two thousand people total, if that. This lady graduated from high school something like five years after I did, in 1993 I think and has pretty much stayed put.
A mutual acquaintance of ours from this same hometown a few years ago had breast cancer, like I did. And I reached out to this mutual acquaintance thanks to the wonder that is social media. Through a few exchanges, I offered whatever lightweight words of encouragement I had. You see, I am not the “pink ribbon, save the ta-tas” kind of patient and survivor, but I am the “I got your back, it’s a sisterhood” kind. I wanted to let her know that if she wanted to chat with someone who actually understood instead of someone who offered platitudes, I could do that once in a while.
For reasons still unclear to me, this acquaintance soon shot a message to me that was chock full of venom and went something like this: “Just so you know, I have “outed” you. I know you didn’t have cancer and I told everyone. I posted it on Facebook and now everyone knows” and it went on like that for a couple more sentences, and it felt like a baseball bat hit me in the head, but there it was and what exactly do you do with something like that other than gasp and move along? Not much, really. I read it, in anger and frustration and shocked silence.
I hadn’t lived in that small town in over twenty years at that point, and had only visited rarely. Things like this rumor reminded me why. An old friend who visited me that winter reminded me, too, that someone else had speculated that my son, (whose name is Daniel), was really the son of someone entirely different (from that hometown) whose name was Dan…and we laughed about it together and I still marvel at how folks will invent a story in the long cold winters to keep themselves fascinated. My kiddo is named after the Irish song “Danny Boy,” but if people need entertainment, I suppose they’ll find it where they want.
Despite knowing the source of this vicious lie, I long ago decided to just let it go because I figured it died right there.
But then Patty Whatsername decided in aTrump-fueled hate post to mention it in an unrelated thread on Facebook. Something in me clicked a bit.
Now, don’t get me wrong. People gossip. We are all prone to gossip and we all stretch the truth now and again. When I was young, I had as much of a casual relationship with the truth as any other kid. I’ve written and published a half-dozen essays about the truths and lies we tell in our adult lives. I’m not here to cast the first stone. I’m here to show you the difference, and to point out that your bullshit actually causes harm — real harm.
Because being sick, having cancer — that has been a part of my life, and and it sucks.
So these are for you, Patricia. I know you won’t really give a flying fuck because you have a smaller soul than you have a brain, but they are for the people who read your comment and may have cause to wonder.
See, Patty? This is what part of the journey looks like. It’s not pretty, but people who are actually not “vile” human beings like you offer words of encouragement and support along the way. I knew it wouldn’t kill me, but it sure sucked.
Oh, and then there’s this one, Patti! Yeah, nothing like a radiation burn in December. Sure was a great Christmas that year. Loved it. But sure, you get to say things like “you lied to your friends about having cancer” and you can drop that little nugget into a Facebook thread and walk away thinking you are a decent person. Except you aren’t. You are the trash we all think you are when you do things like that. I hope you never know what it is like to go through this, because you sure as hell aren’t strong enough to do what I have done, lady.
I will always have people like this, though. My amazing daughter. Or, Patricia, is this all just faked? I mean, I guess you might think that — like all of your other conspiracy theories, right? I just staged this, maybe? Wait until you see how good I am at the video…
In case you want to see the whole thing, Patricia.
https://www.instagram.com/p/BsJNgEWhVvh/
So here’s the thing.
Like I said, my basket of fucks appears to be completely empty, and yet I couldn’t resist pointing out that you, Patricia, were worth this essay. Why? Because I actually get paid to crank these out, and I like earning money to point out when someone is a total piece of shit.
Have I been perfect in my life? Of course not. But I’ve never been a lowlife who derives joy from cruelty, who believes in the oppression of others, or persists in taking pleasure from another person’s misfortune. That’s you, Patricia. That’s you.
I’m cancer-free, enjoying it, and I’ll cash this paycheck with an even bigger smile on my face than usual.
Namaste.
