Just like Galactus from The Fantastic Four comics, hate feeds on energy. Draining our souls and eventually consuming it.
Hate is a word that I seldom use to describe the way I feel about people. Unfortunately, this is a lie I tell myself.
There are few people in this world I hate. I can count them on one hand. They hurt and fucked me (and my close family) over when I was younger, for lack of better words. They are all siblings in fact. These are feelings and memories I keep locked away, in a box labelled “DO NOT OPEN! DANGER! TURN BACK NOW” These feelings are frozen in time. They have stayed the same, never changing, never turning. Even rocks can be smoothed into stones over time. Mountains shift as techtonic plates move about beneath our feet. This though, is unnatural. Unworldly. Unruly.
I keep things locked away to keep myself safe. All I want is to feel safe and keep hold of that feeling.
The issue for me is that these people have old ties, with one I hold dearest. She has a history with them. An era in her life that significantly involved them. She put her life and energy into them once upon a time. They are family or at least, used to be part of her family. I refuse to acknowledge them though.
I feel guilty for turning cold and ridged at the mention of them. My soul turns around, like a sleeping child having a nightmare. It unsettles me. Rattles me.
I respect and acknowledge her history with them. I don’t want her to feel as if she can’t relive her memories around me or reminisce. I want to be supportive.
One of them commited suicide last week. I was not shaken by this news. Not feeling shaken is what shakes me. I feel no compassion, no sympathy. I don’t care about the death itself.
Part of me feels like they deserve what ever the universe throws at them. That they have accrued the cruel hands dealt to them.
What scares me most, is myself. This isn’t normal right? I’m supposed to at least feel sorry for them. I don’t.
My brother says I have every right to feel the way I and that he understands. He says it makes him sad to hear the way I feel though. That hate is so consuming. He told me that he feels sorry for them. That he holds the way he feels in, in respect of the history she had with them. I can’t find it in me to do this. But for her I will try.
This feels confusing and conflicting. My thought process has changed. I think from every angle and of every variable, when thinking about people like them. I know that the cards people like are dealt, are shit ones. That they had no control over that. I feel sorry for people like that. I want to help them. But not these people. Oh no. They can rot for all I care. And thinking that way scares me.
Everyone is a hypocrite.
I am no different.