I find reasons to be angry with you so that it feels right when we aren’t talking. I’m watching you and your life move on while I’m standing right where you last left me. This isn’t about love. No, this is about something much more fragile, my best friend. Days will go by that we don’t talk, weeks. We recently almost went a month without a single word to each other.
I know that’s no big deal to most people but for someone who lead me through suicide and the early stages of my depression, when I was too afraid to be medicated. Someone that at one point, shared something so intimate and so close. It’s a big deal that I am growing apart from the person I held the closest to my heart, on multiple levels.
It’s easier to be mad at you than it is to convince myself that you no longer need me.
I laid in bed last night look up at the black nothingness of my room. I rolled onto my stomach, closed my eyes and pressed my face into my pillow, grabbing the ends and pulling up as hard as I could. I could feel myself slipping into whatever comes next, but I stopped. I stopped for 2 reasons: 1. Pure laziness. The strenuousness of pushing into the pillow while simultaneously pulling up as hard as I could at 3 am wasn’t something I wanted to do. And 2. My rabbit, Nyx. She is my entire world and if I was gone I don’t know who would take care of her.
She’s saved me twice now.
I hate hearing how happy you are. Your granddaughter was born and I heard you cried from happiness…and I couldn’t hate that any more. I hate that you have any sliver of happiness. I want you to be miserable. I want your life to be as hard as you made mine.
My doctor tells me that I should find it in myself to forgive you. That if the thought of you upsets me then you’re still winning. But I can’t. I will never forgive you. If my family is going somewhere and we are dropping my brother off with you then I won’t go. I never want to see you again. I’m not afraid of you, just afraid of how I’m going to treat you.
My friend tells me that it’s pointless to hate. That it wastes too much energy. He tells me that he doesn’t hate. I’m jealous of him. I’m so swallowed by my hatred for you that your name makes me cringe.
I’ll always hate you.
I’m not alone in the house, but I’m awake. Everyone is so far away in their slumber that they can’t hear me walking around the house, they aren’t bothered by my noise. I’m a ghost walking through the dark, barely lit rooms. Nobody notices me. It’s peaceful. A lonely peacefulness that soothes the want for interaction. I can move from room to room, I can exist, and it doesn’t bother anyone. Nobody to be annoyed by the creaky floor, nobody to notice me from the next room over. It’s nice to be able to just…be, without anyone else knowing, without bothering anyone else. To exist without having to bother anyone.
It’s hard not to hate people, things, institutions, when they break your spirit and take pleasure in watching you bleed. Hate is the only feeling that makes sense, but I know what hate does to a man. It tears him apart, turns him into something he’s not. Something he promised himself he’d never become. Hate is easy, but it’s destructive.
I’ve spent much of my life hating, and I wish I could say I didn’t hate today, but that would be a lie. There is a fine line between love and hate, sometimes you think you’re on one side but you’re really on the other.
I’m not strong enough to know which side I’m always on.