An Open Letter to a Particular Loser

Dear Loser,

I'm glad you were able to make it to the event on Friday. I hope you had a good weekend. Mine wasn't so great. Well, what I remember of it anyway. Oh, that reminds me. Thanks for slipping me a roofie.

I had thought that date rape drugs were limited to frat keggers, but you really took it to the next level by drugging my drink at a professional event. Classy. Like most people, I naively thought that only 19 year-old fratstars have the necessary lack of compassion to drug an unwitting woman, but you have shown me that even middle-aged men with wives, kids and houses in the suburbs are capable of this disgusting act. You're a fucking sociopath. Trust me, I will be much better about watching my drink in the future.

I will also be much better about watching your creepy ass, and so will everyone else I tell this to. If you feel like you're getting a lot of dirty looks at a party one day, it's not your imagination.

Thank you for the valuable lesson in safety. I'm sorry I made it to a cab before you could rape me.

Cheers!

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Crazy for you

I am an anxious person. This is a fact. You would notice after talking to me for 5 minutes. I fidget constantly. I worry about everything. I panic over mundane details. I'm better now than I've ever been. I think that's just part of growing up, you realize that nothing is really that important. The world won't come to an end if I take a sick day. We aren't all going to die if I throw a party without a signature cocktail. Really, none of this is important.

Years ago, I didn't realize this and still worried about everything. My anxiety was out of control and I was on medication for it. Though, once I sought treatment for my anxiety it got better. I really wasn't different from any other person at that point. I didn't tell many people about this because of the stigma associated with mental health problems. It was my dark secret.

Shrek knew about this. Telling him was a mistake. I was open and honest about everything and explained to him what my situation was like. He didn't get it. Or he chose not to. He insisted I needed a one way ticket to the looney bin. He took every opportunity to remind me that I was crazy. One time he couldn't find a shirt, and I asked him if he had checked his hamper. He screamed at me and accused me of not taking my medication. Because I suggested he look in his hamper. Seriously. Oh, and for the record, it was there.

He told me I would never be able to get a job after college because of my psychological problems. He told me I would never be able to have children or even a pet. He told me I would never be able to get anyone else to date me. If I tried to have a conversation with him, he would interrupt me by singing "Crazy." When he did not get the grades to keep his scholarship, he wrote a letter to the dean citing my "severe mental illness" as the reason he was unable to keep his grades up.

Seriously. Shrek was an asshole. I've tip-toed around the issue in the past by only bitching about silly little things he did. But, the real reason I hate him is because he knew about something I was insecure about. And rather than accept this, he exploited it.

I'd like to suggest that when the DSM-V is created, there is an entry for being an asshole. Shrek can be a case study.