Melanie the Misanthropic Massuese

The social self.

Image via Wikipedia

I really like that word, Misanthrope.

Molière’s character Alceste in Le Misanthrope (1666) states:

My hate is general, I detest all men;
Some because they are wicked and do evil,
Others because they tolerate the wicked,
Refusing them the active vigorous scorn
Which vice should stimulate in virtuous minds.[1]

I love that quote.  Molière says that you can stimulate your mind simply by fighting for what’s right instead of looking stupidly passive with dull doll-eyes staring numbly at the wicked that hath before you.  (I’m sorry but did I just say Hath?)

I want to be a misanthrope!  It sounds delightful.

What brings me to divulge in my dislike for the human race?

It all started last night.  I couldn’t sleep again.  The latte I had at Cheshire Coffee must’ve sprung a leak in my synapses – my brain was unhinged, firing away from one speedy thought to the next.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.  Why can’t I sleep?  My chi lost its flow.  My head sloshes ear to ear with biohazard.

I woke up after maybe two hours of sleep and went to work.  I felt exhausted but refused to let it bring me down, so I cranked up the radio and sang as loud as I could to Pat Benatar trying to hit the highest notes I could reach.  My highest note turned into a real genuine scream.

A while ago my Dad told me about a group of people somewhere in asia who get together by some train tracks and scream their lungs out when a train goes by.  They say it’s therapy.  To scream as loud as they can.

I decided to try it out yesterday in the car on my way to work.  I screamed as loud as I could and felt completely ridiculous so I started laughing.  I wondered if other people on the road could hear me and that thought alone cracked me up.  I screamed and laughed all the way to work.  I think it’s good excercise for the vocals.

I started singing again after screaming and I sounded awesome – better than before.

Screaming is great therapy for a misanthrope.

I felted pumped.  Super tired and sick, but pumped all the same.  I grabbed my first clients chart and looked it over.  My heart sank.  My first client was a 16-year-old high school athlete who rubs himself during the massage.

WTF.  WTF….Why today?  I felt the anger pains rising – I was in no mood – had no patience for this behavior and could quite easily snap.  I was also angry at my job for allowing him to keep coming back (to a female therapist no less!).  I was pissed.

He’s had about a dozen massages, most of them reported inappropriate touching.  One therapist was so offended that she simply walked out of the room.  Now it was my turn to have to deal with him.

I greeted him and was relieved to see an awkward, pimply kid and not some big muscle head jock.  I brought him into the massage room and told him I will start him face up.  If I started him face down and then turned him over half-way through the massage, there would be an erection.  However, if I started him face up – there normally wouldn’t be an erection in the beginning so I wouldn’t have to deal with it.  Out of sight, out of mind, right?

I gave him about 4 or 5 minutes to get undressed and get on the table.  I knocked on the door before going in.

Him – “You can come in.”

I walk in the room and see his hands under the sheet already rubbing himself.

Me – “So you like to touch yourself during a massage, do you?”

Him – “Huh?”

Me – “I see you touching yourself.  That’s not going to happen this time.  Arms out where I can see them.”

Him – “I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I wasn’t doing that.  I definitely wasn’t doing that.”

I ignored his pleads because I knew any retaliation would only escalate my animosity and drain the little bit of energy I had.  His arms were out from under the blanket and if I seen him go anywhere near his private’s again, I would simply walk-out.  I actually wanted him to do it again, just so I can get out of there and still get paid.

But he didn’t.  He behaved for the rest of the massage.  At times it seemed like he’d forget he wasn’t allowed to touch down there, and started moving his hand but would remember and catch himself before he could….catch himself.  It was a bored, fidgety habit – a compulsion he had trouble  controlling.  Like an OCD tick.

And after I yelled at him, a normal asshole pervert would get even more turned on from being scolded and apologize with a smirk saying it won’t ever happen again.  But this kid was denying it to shreds – feeling ashamed and embarrassed.  I’m not a child psychologist or anything, but it seems like a real psychological disorder to me.

Or he could just be a malignant narcissist, the worst kind of sociopathic/psychopathic disorder that breeds pure evil, but I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.

I told the manager what happened and she talked to him after the massage.  I wrote in his chart that he needs professional help and should stop getting massaged.  I don’t expect them to suspend his membership.  Why don’t I expect them?  Because I’m a misanthrope and stopped believing in people to do the right thing.  Everybody chooses money over morals.  Everybody.

I stopped writing this post last night so I could fall asleep at a decent hour.  I just woke up and got about 10 hours of sleep and I still don’t feel well.  I’m sick.  Officially.

I’m supposed to wake up at 5 am tomorrow to go to Canada.  My own Mother was trying to teach me how to lie to my friends by telling them that I have to stay home and look after her while my Dad is away.

Me – “I don’t lie to people.  I’m not a liar.  You may do that sort of thing, but I don’t.”

Mom – “I don’t lie!  I’m not a liar!”

Me – “What are you talking about?  You’re trying to teach me how to do it!  I don’t see any reason to lie.  It’s stupid.”

Mom – “Okay, you’re right.  Forget everything I said.  It is wrong to lie, don’t listen to me.”

It is a rare occurence to see my mother admit guilt.

If my own mother lies without guilt, than what are the chances of me trusting anyone in the world?  None!

I might write a book.  This chapter would be titled, “Melanie the Misanthrope battle’s a malignant narcissist and her Mother.”


Filed under journal, rant

7 responses to “Melanie the Misanthropic Massuese

  1. Steph

    Omg Mel!! That is so gross!! So funny though! Lol

  2. Holly

    OMG that is ridiculous and disgusting that he does that. I’m glad you called him out on it 🙂 Canada will be ok, even if you are not feeling well; you can sleep in the car and we will not party hard! I’ll let you rest plenty

  3. Pingback: Malleable, Amicable Me | melanie's blog

  4. Your not a misanthrope. You do not trully feel like one if you wish to help a human… do you know what misanthrope is? You might know the word understand the content of it and live by it. Do you know how to look on humans, not wishing to be touched or touch anyone because humanity is filthy? Do you allow others to touch you? Do you enjoy being huged… bah. Humans like you, do not scorn Misanthropes with your detested words of love, your only confused and feeling shit, not truly repulsed by humanity.
    In a way you should feel blessed… you don’t know how to hate this way. You repulse me, touching humans so carelessly, being with humans, smiling.
    *true misanthrope out*

  5. Pingback: I’m a Goddamned Vixen I tell you! | melanie's blog

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