I hate him.
With every inch of me I hate him. He left me, he chose to do what he did and leave and hurt everyone around him. He spared no memory for one single moment as to how much we love him and would do for him.
He hurt me. He ripped every inch of me and walked away with a huge chunk of me. Without my consent. How was it not possible for me to not hate him? I mean, seriously.
It was easier for me to hate R, than to love him.
Let’s call a spade a spade and say that I might have finally moved into the “anger” stage of this grief process I’m moving through.
Crossing off Denial and Bargaining off the list, I guess Anger was my new friend.
I’ve hated a lot of people in my life and used much energy to hold a grudge, but never before have I hated someone like I’ve been hating on R lately. This was a new, surreal type of anger that filled every gaping void of pain within me and surged out at any given moment when I would hear of someone talking about R or mention him. The look I would get in my eye once ago when someone mentioned him, was now something of the past. This anger was here to stay for now.
Although I knew this was coming my way, I really didn’t anticipate how severe this hatred would be. Surely, we all know how powerful hate is above love and longing, but one can never be too certain of the power it will hold in your life once you’ve gone through something traumatic and serious as I have.
The dreams I have been getting of R, has not stopped altogether. In actual fact, it’s become worse and resembling psychological torture at best. My anger and hatred has spilled over to the dreams as well and I would often wake up in pain, finding myself punching the wall or throwing my pillow over the room. In a way, the dreams were a blessing in disguise. I could vent the anger towards him, even if it was a memory of him.
Looking at my life as well, it seemed that the hatred had started consuming me on another level as well. A portion of me still had love for everything and everyone I chose to keep close to me, but this virus was making me burst out more and attack people often. Under a careful guise of “standing up for myself” , I’m starting to fear that this hate-virus would start to take unnecessary and uncalled victims pretty soon.
I’m just glad of one back door this hatred and anger has thrown wide open: an open mind.
This has allowed me to still keep track of what I’m doing and foreseeing that this might become a problem. Luckily I can now call myself out on this problem before it consumes me.
Also, it’s easier to hate, than to love (right now).
Love required me to feel every painful reminder of what he’d done to me and that he’s not here anymore. That I miss him and everything he’s done for me and that I won’t ever get to see him again.
Hate allowed me to make room for something less painful – one emotion that could shut the door on all the others. It was in actual fact way more easier to hate than to love.
In grief, there is no easy way to follow suit.
This was a battle that I would survive, with a few more life lessons in tact.