Have you ever hated someone? Like – really hated. I’m not talking about the dick head that pulls out in front of you and makes you slam on your brakes that have just been realigned, or when the silly person in front of you at the check-out is questioning the cost of every item that scans, always when you’re in a huge hurry.
No. Wanting to scream out loud, “Would you get on with it!” is not hating someone. Neither is pulling a middle finger at the rev head who thinks his spoiler and mag wheels entitle him to front position on the road.
No no. Let me explain hate.
Hate is when you want to take someone’s face in your hands, find a big nasty patch of rough and jagged gravel, and rub their face into that gravel hard until it bleeds. And when they look at you with mercy, do you pass them a tissue so they can wipe the blood out of their eye? No. You spit in their blood soaked face and walk away laughing thinking to yourself…. You haven’t even seen the start of it…
Hate comes from an ugly place. I’m not sure where it’s located… Maybe in the same part of the brain that recognises offensive smells, the same part that makes us vomit at the thought of handling a dead rat, and the same part of the brain that warns you NOT to go and see that Adam Sandler film.
Actually, to be honest, I don’t think hate comes from our brains at all. I think it comes from our hearts – which is strange isn’t it? That an organ we associate with love could make us so angry and spiteful?
The thing is this yesterday I had a visit from hate. Luckily, it didn’t hang around too long, I sent it running as soon as I realised it had hold of me.
But while I was being visited, and feeling all this hate, and marinating in bitterness and dreaming of vengeance, I had to put my 1 year old daughter to bed. As I read her usual bed time book, I could feel my heart pounding. I wasn’t thinking about Grandpa or Thomas or their Green Umbrella… I was dwelling on things that had been said to make me feel so hateful. Then as I sang her bed time song and cuddled her before laying her in the cot, I became so overwhelmed with emotion that I couldn’t sing. I was warbling and fighting back tears.
It’s as though my heart was totally confused.
Because how can you feel so much unconditional love and adoration for someone, yet so much anger and yuk for someone else?
I came downstairs and cried (silly me) and decided that I have more important people to use up my emotion on. And that it’s so not worth harbouring all this extreme hate when I actually feel like the luckiest person in the world when I’m holding my daughter in my arms.
So what had happened to make me feel to angry and hateful?
I’m doing some other writing work at the moment. Work that I actually get paid for so I kind of have to make it a priority. The thing is it involves working with other people which I’m normally very good at, in fact I miss it.
But I find it really hard to get along with Fascist Gutter Pig Slappers.
(wow, it comes so easily) Anyway, not counting past crimes and without giving away too much information.. we had words. Actually she had orders. For me. And they weren’t requests or suggestions… orders.
I usually try my hardest to avoid this person. That’s what I do when I dislike someone. I pretend their invisible to me so I don’t have to feel this horrid feeling. It’s so oppressive and unhealthy.
“You’re not the boss of me! Got it bitch?” Is what I SHOULD HAVE said.
Instead, I gave her my emptiest smile and said, “No frickin’ worries.”
Except I didn’t say frickin.
Then I wreaked havoc on her and all of her future endeavours in my head until I was so enraged and so furious and so filled with contempt and hate and anger until… well, like I said I broke down.
And that’s what hate does. Besides giving you perspective eventually, it doesn’t actually help.
People say hate is the same as love, but I think it’s the opposite of love, because love is unselfish.
Hate is such a self indulgent and self centred emotion for another human being. It’s like infatuation and lust. You get obsessed with hating the person and say or do crazy things. Sometimes you forget why you hate them. And now even just thinking about yesterday, my hatred seems so out of context and really not necessary.
AGES ago I went out with a boy who had family in the mafia. I dated him on and off for 6 years. While we no longer speak, I certainly learnt a lot from him. Mainly… How To Be Sicilian. He instilled in me a great sense of justice and hatred and vengeance. And boy oh boy, was I was the brunt of it one time too. I was telling a table full of young men at a bar that Cindy wasn’t my real name, but in fact just my stage name. (And that’s a true story by the way). What kind of stage? Well I made them guess didn’t I… and that was about as much as my 22 year old hot headed Sicilian fianzata could take. I got dragged out of there faster than you can say, “No, I’m not a stripper!”
Anyway, I got out of that controlling relationship. Which makes me wonder..
Is that what leads people to hate. Having no control over something ? And they hate the lack of control so they blame whoever’s in their face?
I do that.
Or is it genetic? Man I’ve seen both of my parents angry. A little scary either way, though for different reasons. In fact after updating my facebook status yesterday with a comment that I would like to throw something – my sister made the comment, “Ah there’s that charming family rage.” I ask about the genetic factor because some people just don’t have hate within them. Some people really are sweet to the core.
I’m not. Clearly…. and I think the ‘face-into-gravel’ story really illustrated that well.
This particular girl that I claim to hate? Maybe I’m misinterpreting where she was coming from. Maybe. She was probably trying to be helpful and perhaps doesn’t understand what I consider proper social ettiquette and politeness. HARDLY hate-worthy behaviour.
But I can’t help that just hearing her name makes my heart race. I feel my muscles tense up and my eyes get all shifty like I want to pounce and attack. Like the Leo that I am. ROOOOAAAR!!!
What am I trying to protect?
Probably just myself and my own ego.
I can’t imagine what I’d be like if I was famous, and copped the brunt of my own narky statements sometimes. Diva? I reckon I’d be a living nightmare!
I can’t imagine how hateful I’d feel towards someone who wrote a letter to my daughter that made fun of my husband and suggested she make me smile and get a tan. (Sorry Katie Holmes).
And boy would I HATE HATE HATE someone who totally ridiculed me for writing a book – and sticking a few crystals on my hoo ha. (Sorry Jennifer Love).
As for my comments on being a Skank McSkankity Skank – No Michelle McGee. I am NOT SORRY you disgusting shameless piece of trash. You and Jesse James can rot in Nazi hell for all I care. Seriosuly you moron, why would I apologise to your pathetic, homewrecking excuse for a brain. Go back to whatever disgusting, diseased filled crawlspace you came from and STFU, you worthless hack!
And THAT, boys and girls – is what you call HATE.