My emotions are never absolute or consistent. They ebb and flow like the tides, only without the predictability. My mood doesn’t always have a direct impact on my emotions either. I may be down and yet hopeful. I may be up, but be filled with negative feelings.
Today is one of those days. Today is a day of hate.
I don’t hate others for whom or what they are. It doesn’t matter about health, or skin color, or sexual orientation, political beliefs or faith. Or any one of the reasons people use as an excuse to justify their own hate.
My hate is a little closer to home.
I hate that my mind remembers the negatives and not the positives. And that my memory is crystal clear and complete over my entire life. There’s no where I can go that doesn’t bring up pain and sadness from bad memories.
I hate that I have so little control over self indulgences. I drink even though I know it interferes with the effectiveness of my medications. I smoke knowing full well that it’s taking years off my life.
I hate having an addictive personality.
I hate getting so upset when things are not exactly how I think they should be. I hate having thoughts that I can’t stop. I hate all the noise in my head. And not being able to let go.
I hate being Obsessive Compulsive.
I hate giving away my heart so quickly, only to have it broken every time. I hate committing myself to others who are not equally committed. I hate loving someone so completely who can’t love me back just as much. I hate trusting others who always end up betraying that trust.
I hate not having loved better. And even though the love is there, not having expressed it as much or as often as I should have. Not telling the ones who have loved me unconditionally. Not being able to share with the ones who matter the most. Not letting my family and children know just how much I do and always will love them.
I hate hurting others. In spite of my intentions and feelings I always seem to end up causing pain and suffering. And I hate that this pain ends up destroying my relationships and friendships.
I hate that no one can truly understand the hell that is my life. That people can’t seem to recognize that I’m truly a good and caring person that just wants to give and share. I feel that I’m often perceived as a monster. And I hate that.
I hate being alone. And I hate being lonely even when surrounded by others. I hate that I need others to keep me away from the harmful and unhappy thoughts that inevitably come when I by myself. That being comfortable with my own company isn’t enough.
I hate being self destructive. Whether I’m indulging in harmful addictions or taking risks that have the potential for catastrophe. I hate that I have the subconscious (or maybe even conscious) need to destroy my life.
I hate the fine line between my intelligence and stupidity. How can I be so smart and do so many stupid things? How can I always manage to turn something positive into something negative?
I hate being so angry over things that shouldn’t matter. And that I act out because of anger, often putting myself and others in peril. And knowing that my anger is irrational and senseless, and yet being unable to help myself. Having the rage that is so harmful and damaging to myself and to others.
I hate being so sad and depressed that I become completely incapacitated. Being engulfed in darkness so complete, robbing me of my soul. Being so far down in the pit of despair that it’s impossible to see that it will end.
I hate having hope knowing that I will ultimately end up giving up.
I hate not being able to control my life.
I don’t hate anyone for whom or what they are. I hate myself for who and what I am.
I hate being bipolar.