and by opposing end them?

Hate


Hate is a word that I try to avoid using.  There is so much more power in that word than the amount of gravity that it is given.  The word cunt seems to be atrocious.  Saying the word nigger in certain company will get you killed.  Yet the word that gives power to each of those arrows is tossed around with obnoxious frequency.  I reserve its use because the significance that it carries.  To hate something is beyond loathing, it is beyond reasoning, it is beyond comprehension.  It is pure, unadulterated emotion at the opposite spectrum from love.  No, I don't use that word lightly.

I hate myself.  I hate myself more than I could ever hate anything or anyone.  There are certain things that disgust me.  Intolerance disgusts me, prejudice disgusts me, ignorance disgusts me, yet as bad as those things are I still don't hate them.  No, I reserve that designation for the worst offenders, I reserve that for myself.

I hate that I am the reason why I am constantly in pain.  It is not my choice to feel every pin prick with the magnitude of a dagger.  It is not my will to be an open reciprocal for the purging of life's overflow.  Yet for some reason I feel things that I believe others do not.  In short, I am an emotional lighting rod and I hate myself for it.  Its not that I cry when a kitten dies, I don't even like cats.  I'm just not wired the same as those I share a crowded bar with.  In them there is a chase, a pursuit.  In me there is a struggle, a battle.  I don't even want to be here, I want to be with her yet the women here are calling my name.  I am their celebrity and I hate myself for it.  Above all else I hate myself for, once again, for wanting her more than she wants me.  I hate myself for finally caring for a person in the way that I swore I never would again.  I hate myself for exposing my naked chest to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.