Hate

I begin to question the impact 'hate' has played in my life. I hate as much now as I've hated in the past. And though I have trained myself not to utter that word, that does not mean I do not feel it; do not embrace it. That I do not internalize hate and use it to represent emotions I have for and/or towards someone. And that makes me just as guilty, if not more guilty because I try and outwardly disguise what I feel inside. Or perhaps, what's worse, who I am inside. At that point, I'm fooling and deceiving myself more than I am fooling and deceiving the outside world. How tragic. . .on a Shakespearean level. Because the tragedy is more mental than it is physical, which means that I must suffer living with it. Almost as worse as Raskolnikov in Crime & Punishment, 'cept my murder is of spirit rather than flesh and my prison is knowing that I cannot accept this hate I must live with. And what I suffer is self-inflicted. Oh, whoa. My complaints are larger verbally than they are in true existence.