It feels like a huge, dark, dead body is constantly growing inside my chest. It keeps struggling to occupy space meant for gas exchange. This is anger. This is resentment. And once again they’ve decided it’s already time to visit me.
Can you change what you are?
I mean, is it that hard to believe a person is bestowed with more than just his physical traits upon birth? I believe I was born with boiling blood. In my younger years I find it so easy to hate anyone or anything. I could always find a reason for enmity. It took me quite a long time to realize what I hate the most is not any person or any other thing but this trait to hate so easily itself.
Although it is not without valid reason, every time I hate a person, I also have this notion that I am hating myself. Do I hate myself because I allowed them to hurt me? Do I hate myself for feeling? For caring? Do I hate myself because this hate has spread and now it involves and risks hurting people I care about?
Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
Hate only brings hurt…resentment. And this, well this breaks you. This even brings the worst sort of crying. It’s the kind that brings tears that never comes out of those eyes.
Then you’d go thinking, “Oh, I would do anything just to make this hate go away!“
But would you, really?
I would. Still, pride is holding me. Like it’s hate’s conjoined twin. Or better yet its puppeteer. And more often than not, he’s the worse to beat between the two. And it keeps you from forgiveness – both asking and giving. I was assaulted, but I fought back. I fought hate with hate. This only brought more hate – the one thing I hate the most. Makes sense? I don’t know. I know it’s hard to find better words.
In the back of my mind, I know I should’ve kept my cool. That was the right thing to do. Thing is, the back of my mind is so much smaller than the dominating center. And at that moment this bullying part shouts “FIGHT BACK!“. I would give all ten fingers and a tongue if it’s a lie when I say I wish I kept my cool.
But like people who get in trouble, emotions got the better of me.
That leads to how awful I am feeling now. But as I dig deeper, as I force myself to face the truth, I heard a thought saying, “If I haven’t fought back, would it spare me this rotten, gnawing sensation?“.
The answer was no.
See, even if I haven’t reacted in the offense, I would still hate myself for not even having enough guts to protect myself. Maybe it’s just in a different angle, but the result would be the same – hating me.
I would give out a front tooth (and I intend to keep it; can’t even imagine what the hell you would do with it…unless you have a weird tooth fetish making me less than glad to find you reading this) if I could find a single THINKING person who has not hated himself once in his entire lifetime. I could not, that enough I know.
Will it be right to say then that all thinking people are broken because of this past/present self-loathing? I believe it is. Yet it would be another thing to say that these broken little things will never, ever be happy. Or whatever you call that sense of being alive, really living, and loving it. I know I call that happiness.
And I will be happy again.
For I am just a broken little thing, but in the name of my slightly broken right front tooth, why, I am far from destroyed.
*image credits here*