So last night I spent over an hour spewing to my wife things that I hated. I didn’t sound like I hated them, but inside, deep deep deep inside, I felt a rising disgust, foul and putrid updraft of hatred.
One of the many things that I mentioned I hated was the fact that my mother met my father. It seems like that is reminiscent of “I wish I was never born” cop out but I’m not sure if it is at this point. I accept that I was brought into this world, but I hate how it was done. The circumstances. And the people that were brought together to create me. I hate all that. I hate how repulsive I am, how my comfort zone is to be lying, through and through. I hate how I was taught to operate under the assumption that everyone can be manipulated and how easily I fell into that way of thinking. I hate my mother for fucking with me over the years. I hate her toxically sadistic love/use of me for whatever supply she needed. I hate how she couldn’t keep her vagina closed for two seconds to think how it would affect the rest of her life (fucking some random guy at bar and the result was me, then flashforward some years, fucking many almost random guys from her work and the gym and justified it by saying she “needed love”). I hate how I ended up just like my mother. I hate how she destroyed my sister and played her children against each other. I hate that I hated my wife for not believing my lies, then I hated myself for hating my wife for not believing my lies. I hate that I felt I like I have to break my fingers to punish myself for what’d I done to people I supposedly cared about. I hate how I wanted to punch through my shed and my coffee table and the walls of the house. I hate some of the people I work with and the work environment, part of which I created for myself. I hate some of the choices I made. I hate that I didn’t want my wife to be my best friend and now she might never be. I hate how one day I’m going to have to explain to my kids how awful their father was. I hate having to learn empathy because I was never taught it before. I hate the entitlement my father holds onto. I hate my mother. I hate the lack of remorse I show, the lack of sorry I show, the lack of true depth. I still hate my mother and I want her to know this plain as day.
Hear that Mom? I hate your soulless contraption of a person, with your slimy coating, and writhing and wretched insides. Evil is using your children for your own gain. Evil is you. I will not be your minion, soul-sucking Narco-philiac. Feel your parasitic bonds tearing away, screeching, moaning, ear-bleeding noises as I break you. Break from you. I curb-stomp those goddamn things just to watch you atrophy. I hope it’s excruciating you bloodsucking troll.
Among all this hate and more I was stewing pretty nicely. Then my wife turned some lights on and just as she flipped the switch, I felt a change in me too. I became more defensive, snide, smug, passive aggressive. We were talking about lies and more of them I’d told. In the dark, I was safe, I could set myself up there, exist freely in the dark. Indeed, the emotions and sentiments I put forth were true, but they could not be believed. With the lights turning on, it’s like I reverted to pre-emotional outpouring me, intimidated very easily, ready to place blame unjustly so. I wondered briefly if I was bi-polar: these responses were very different coming from very different places within me. Could be that the Little Me was showing himself, then when the lights came on, I reverted. This is unnerving to me now that I think about it. I’m perfectly capable of expressing myself, so why didn’t I continue with the same mindset as my “hate” tirade.
The truth seems so simple doesn’t it? Perhaps not for something like me. Yes, a something, not someone. I have so many lies that reality is distorted; what is and what isn’t blend into something that may have or may haven’t – a dangerous place to be. I want to come out of that place, but since I’m also a coward, that also becomes difficult for me to do so.
Just do it, my wife says. It’s a leap of faith, be ready to jump. My knees are shaking. I’m nervous, uncomfortable scared. Hesitant. Maybe I can just hold on up here a bit longer?