Out, out, vile jelly – where is thy lustre now?
Goneril, King Lear, William Shakespeare
I played Goneril years ago, complete with real bull’s eyes for the “putting out Gloucester’s eyes” scene. It was fun, particularly when chucking the eyes into the audience afterwards. I had a supply on special order from the butcher for the run.
Shakespeare’s naming of the sisters was interesting, Goneril with the allusion to gonorrhea, a deadly disease in those times, Reagan, which sounds harsh, but really should have been derived from syphilis, to continue the theme, and, of course, the vapid Cordelia – a name foisted upon many a middle class daughter.
I’d personally love it if the middle classes would name their offspring after villains instead – “Meet Goneril, Judas and little Satan, our children”. But I digress. This is supposed to be about poking someone’s eyes out.
The reason this grisly scene comes to mind is that I have just dispensed of a total fuckwit I have known for a while after one transgression too many. The reason why this is connected to poking eyes out is the old Irish saying that sums up this person beautifully:
They’d steal the eye out of your head then come back and spit in the hole.
Many of us have been unlucky enough to have had toxic fuckwittery in our lives. As we get older, we become better at spotting them coming over the proverbial hill and avoiding them. This time, I didn’t. Why? Because I’ve been too wrapped up in sorting out my own life and, of late, have been feeling very upbeat, positive and very tolerant of other’s peccadilloes. Until now, that is.
I’m particularly vulnerable to sociopathic narcissists. Having been raised by one, there is a subconscious familiarity in them that I often can’t see through. I get sucked into their orbit and before I know it, I’m making excuses for the first red flag of warning that appears, then the second and then puzzling about the third, feeling uneasy for a day or two – then BLAM – I realise I’ve got a fuckwit on my hands.
Why this doesn’t occur to me immediately, I don’t know, perhaps I’m being far too tolerant for my own good? But despite people like this, I don’t want to become a suspicious cynic, unable to let anyone near me. There are more good people than bad, after all.
I’ve known this particular fuckwit for a while. I’ve been very nice, particularly understanding. I’ve used all my powers of empathy to make rock solid excuses for their appalling behaviour. I’ve felt sympathetic, caring, compassionate and taken in a series of untruths, plus a big dollop of rudeness and selfishness – which I charitably put down to extenuating circumstances.
I’m not a vengeful person, but I’ve let myself get REALLY ANGRY once I realised the scale of manipulation that had been taking place. The inferno of rage has burned inside me and I let it get to white hot stage without taking any action, whatsoever. Rage is very cleansing and better out than in. I don’t fancy being someone’s bitch in Holloway, either.
There’s little worse than being taken for a fool. I am not, however, the vengeful kind. I know this person has treated many others in a similar fashion. All I have done is to send a dollop of ill intent out into the universe and if all the people they have wronged have done similar – they will find out, in time, that Karma is indeed a bitch.
The next step is to excise the toxin. This is a surgical procedure that removes the fuckwit and all their attendant paraphernalia out of your life. A quick and final cut, they are discarded and will never be engaged with again.
This is difficult when fuckwits work with you or are somehow entangled in your life, but in this case, it is someone I don’t see that often, so the kill is quick and clean.
Afterwards comes the relief. It’s as if a rucksack full of rocks has been dropped from your back. They are gone and can do no more harm.
Tempting as it is to warn others, I won’t, because that would be allowing the toxin to spread in me, which isn’t worth it.
Begone fuckwit, I am free of you! (Although I’d have enjoyed poking you in the eye)