I’ve given up. I shall no more be engaging with anyone on Twitter who’s behaviour offends me.
I shall no more mention sock puppets, or puppeteers, I shall no more blog about the people who
have stood by and watched others, myself included, talked about, laughed about, laughed at,
speculated about and refused to answer when rapprochements have been attempted.

I shall no more attempt to find out why someone with whom I have not engaged decides to
take a swipe at me to a sock puppet account.

I have to accept that none of them will ever accept, or apologise for the way my wife has been treated.

I am heartened that some, in fact a good few, have seen this unseemly behaviour and have spurred me
me on, but the fact that so many have treated my wife with the utter contempt with which they have
is something I can no longer fight. I had this conversation briefly with Catherine Lafferty, what immediately sprung into her mind was last Sunday’s second reading from 2 Timothy “I have fought the good fight to the end”. Oddly enough
my surrender first crossed my mind when this reading was read last Sunday. Bizarre that we thought the same.

Earlier this week I referred to my wife being disabused, on Twitter. Suddenly the word ‘disabuse’ was being bandied around here there and everywhere. It didn’t make me angry, it made me well up. These people had no idea of the hurt caused by the abuse my wife has had inflicted on her. In fact her abuse was clearly a source of amusement for them. It may sound a bit wet and a bit unlike me to admit, but I welled up. It wouldn’t be the first time, one night while she was sleeping, I held her in my arms, as ya do, and this whole debacle crossed my mind. I sobbed, I have no shame admitting, I sobbed that the epicentre of my earthly world could be subjected to the vileness that she had, and so many “Christians” (don’t make me laugh) treat my distress with distain.

I have fought, but, as I type this, it is All Saints Day, I have to consider, am I bothered by the things of Heaven or the things of Earth. Heaven please. I have no need for recognition or standing on earth, I do my job, the one for which I was called, I do my best to put myself last (I believe) I stand up for matters of social justice and I call people out if I think they are acting badly.

This is how the whole thing started, when a sock puppet blog, the author of which I used to be cordial with, started being
unnecessarily unpleasant about Damian Thompson. Now Damian and I are not exactly buddies, we crossed Twitter swords a few times, but the postings in this, supposedly, Catholic blog were rather disappointing too. I said so, and from there on in I was a sock puppet pariah, and I have had to see the same treatment meted out to my wife, and watch people with a great faith in their own worthiness join in.

All Saints day reminds me I want to get to heaven, I want to be a saint myself, not a known one, just a man who made it to full communion with God. If I am going to be able to do this I have to let go of the rage and upset these people have caused and be merciful, I have to remember Christ’s own words “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do”.
I was speaking today to another blogger who has also had his family abused on social media, we concurred that we ourselves are fair game when we put ourselves out there, but not our families, it’s just wrong.

I want to get to heaven, I need to be able to look Christ in the face and explain myself. If I let go, if I let them carry on pretending their behaviour is acceptable, they and their cohort who will look for excuses to dismiss what I am saying here, and allow them to turn it all back on me, which they will, I can be seen to be showing mercy, and I can explain myself to Christ.

Can they?

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