h. atred

“Now why so cut and dry?
A simple concept missed
Give tolerance a try
This confusion still exists
Ignorant mongers, no area’s gray
Couldn’t be any wronger in this age and day.

Why were we put here?
What for? We’re unsure
We sure weren’t put here to hate
Be racist, be sexist
Be bigots, be sure
We won’t stand for your hate

Let’s try to erase it, it’s time that we face it
If we don’t, then who will? Shame on us” ~ The Mighty, Mighty Bosstones

Hate. I don’t really have a place for it. I learned long ago that so much negative energy (and it takes a lot to actively hate) is very bad for my health and any relationships I strive to maintain.

A friend mentioned last night how boring hatred is. And she’s correct: there’s nothing glamorous or attractive about it. It becomes a monotonous raving with no substance, after a time. In addition to all of the negative energy, it’s uniquely self-destructive. It can literally make you sick. Do your utmost to not foster it.

Now that I’ve said that, I have a hatred I cannot shake. This hatred stems out for one individual person. I’ve tried for over twenty years to shake it, to let it wear off. I’ve tried to forgive. I’ve literally been on bruised and aching knees, pleading with the universe to allow me to forgive, and the truth is … I simply cannot.

It eats at me, friends. It colors my relationships and causes me, at times, to loathe myself. I can point to it as one of the major causes of my depression and over-introspection. It causes in me fits of anger that I choke on and hide. It’s always there, not far under the surface. Sometimes it rises up unexpectedly and distracts me from everything else.

It … does not entirely rule my life, but it certainly does influence it. I recognize its unhealthy hold on me and I swear, I’m trying to let it go.

I really shouldn’t be writing about it. It doesn’t serve any purpose other than to purge a little. I can’t see this being helpful for anyone, and possibly there are those that will use this pain against me. Go ahead, I guess. Get in line with the false rumor spreaders and haters of all ages. This is my pain and I’m leaving some of it here.

My Mother was murdered, and her killer walked away without any repercussion. Worse, he manipulated me in my grief to enable his alibi. I’ve spent over twenty years now feeling the guilt he apparently never did. I’ve learned to not hate myself, and I’ve done my best to forgive myself, but I haven’t forgiven him. He hasn’t asked for forgiveness, so I’m not really under moral obligation about that (I’ll tell you my views on forgiveness another time) but the hatred I feel towards him hasn’t abated, either. It kept me up last night, seething.

Here’s my ugliness: I wish him pain. Suffering. I would wish guilty feelings, but it seems to me that guilt is beyond his sociopathic understanding. I wish … I wish I could make him answer for his crime. If I believed in the religious afterlife, I might take some comfort in his ‘ultimate judgment’.  I don’t, however. So in my point of view … he got away with it.

I’m okay. I’m not about to do anything rash or stupid or violent. I just wish I could let this ugly, dark emotion go. It won’t bring her back. It won’t punish him. All I’m really doing is punishing myself, and now I’m doing it publicly.

Forgive me, friends. PLEASE forgive me, family. This seemed like my only option to get the rawness out. I’ll be better soon. I promise.

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