When I was a child I did not hate. I had fear. Only fear. Fear of bullies. Fear of abuse. Fear someone would find out about the abuse. Fear of judgment. I felt fear. I have never felt hate. I never believed one should let them self feel hate. I have allowed sorrow. I have allowed anger. I have allowed a lot of emotions during this ongoing healing process. It was not until I woke up this morning that I felt a deep sadness that quickly transformed into hate. I thought I could transform it back into nto sadness right away. That is usually what happens. I get angry and then I get sad. I can work through those emotions. But the hate has come. I feel hate.
I hate that my nana was abused by a member of our family and everyone kept it a secret. I hate that there are family members living in agony over their own abuse over this man and yet no one will speak the truth. I hate that they expect me to keep their secrets of this vile man. I hate them for that.
I hate that people are loyal to abusers and not victims.
I hate that my family chose to stick together in their lies and not by me. I hate them for that. I hate that they blame me. I hate that they lie about me. I hate that they have spun a story that nolonger resembles the truth at all. I hate all of them.
I hate that the one person I still had in my life from my childhood ended up being someone I could not trust. I hate people who are drunks. I hate liars.
I hate that the one man I really really look up to will undoubtedly choose his daughter over me. I hate that he will never know the person that she is. I hate that he does not know what she has done to me or done to herself. I hate him for not choosing me, even in the face of my knowledge and respect for loyalty. I still hate him for not choosing me. She is a liar. She is hurtful. But no one ever sees that. No one sees the liars. They are too good at their facade.
I hate that no one has fought for me. I hate being discarded.
I hate that this one person thinks her children are all perfect angels and one of them hurt me and she will never know. She will never know he was part of my hell childhood. I hate him for doing that. I hate him for ruining the only safe house that I had.
I hate that because everyone chooses to keep their secrets, no one will ever understand my truths. They keep lying. They keep denying. they will never understand my truths. So I live with my truths alone. I hate them for that.
I hate the men who abused and used me.
I hate billy banks and I hate every single person that loves him in spite of knowing what he did to me.
I hate that my family is friends with people who hurt me.
I hate that my family are cowards.
I hate that my family has bonded together in their little sick world of lies and pride and will, until the day they die, care about themselves more than they care about me.
I hate being lectured. I hate being told I am not allowed to be who I am. Not allowed to feel. I hate being expected to be perfect all the time. I hate being judged.
I hate facebook. I hate that a person tells me one thing and posts something completely different on facebook because they are a liar like everyone else. I am so sick of liars.
I hate the people who claim to be my friends and will meet me out at their convenience but cannot even give me five minutes on the phone. I hate that nomatter what the know about my situation, their situation still takes precedence, even if it means I am alone in my suffering.
I hate opening my soul to someone on the phone who I can hear typing on their computer or texting in the background, not listening at all.
I hate that my family’s cousin thinks no one can live up to my standards. WHAT STANDARDS? the ones that don’t allow people to talk rudely to me? The ones that don’t allow people to hurt me? The ones that don’t allow people to think they can just treat me like crap by saying hurtful things and I will just forgive them? I am sick of forgiving people for hurting me. I hate that I am expected to always be the one that forgives and lets things go. I am tired of letting things go. I am tired of accepting crap as a friendship. My expectations from 1-10 are about a 2. I expect kindness. I expect respect. If that is too much to ask then I hate you for asking more from me!
I hate my one best friend who chose her sex offender husband and never apologized to me.
I hate my other best friend who abused me in a closet when I was a little girl and even though she apologized later, I don’t feel she ever even meant it.
I hate that my other best friend ended our relationship because I would not testify for her in court. I hate the attorney who subpoenaed me, who I then later asked to help me with my OWN sexual assault case and she blew me off because she only used me for her case. I hate that attorney.
I hate all of my best friends were narcissists.
I hate that my family are all narcissists.
I hate that somehow I am the bad guy. I don’t accept rude people. I don’t accept unkind people. I don’t accept being stood up at a restaurant. I don’t accept you being drunk at dinner. I don’t accept being asked for money. I don’t accept broken promises. I don’t accept being told that I am ” angry ” when you are out screwing 19 year old boys when you are 40, yet I am being judged for having an acceptable appropriate emotion, and yet when I say STOP, I am the bad guy. How am I the bad guy? I HATE people who are making me out to be the bad guy.
I woke up feeling hate. I felt hate because of all of the people in my life that have chosen their lies and secrets and excuses and have hurt me. Those people then EXPECT me to be somehow ok with it all. Then when I am not. I am the bad guy. and I hate them for that.
I want to say, ” oh yeah, your son, he copped a feel when we were little because he thought he could then blamed adolescence…..oh yeah your dad who you put on a pedastal, he attacked every woman in our family but they don’t want you to know..” I am the secret keeper and I am sick of it. I hate keeping their secrets.
Well here is a newsflash. I hate all of you. Every last one of you. Because I am not the bad guy. I simply don’t accept the bad you are offering anymore. I don’t have high expectations. I simply have expectation to no longer be hurt. After a life time of abuse, rape, sodomy, being used, manipulated, prostituted, and denied my own humanity, I make NO apologies for choosing to not allow anyone to hurt me anymore. I hate every one of you who are cowards. Who are buddies with the people who hurt me because it is all you have in life. You chose the bad guy because yourself are bad. I hate your little “team” of cheerleaders that cheer each other on in your own selfish worlds.
I hate that I have no mother.
I hate that I always try to do the right thing and I still get hurt.
I hate the gynecologist who could have saved me from abuse when I was 15 but chose to lecture me instead.
I hate that even though I have so many illnesses, I have no one. I hate that if anything happened to me there is not one person in this entire world I would trust to love my daughter and take care of her like I do.
I hate having lyme disease. I hate not knowing what med to take. I hate not being able to drive and having to rely on others who are NEVER there. I hate feeling hopeless with all of my health conditions.
I hate that people think it is a joke that I can’t be around perfume. I hate that I am not respected or taken seriously. I hate all of those people!
I hate my bother. I loved him like I love my own daughter. But he chose my mother. They all chose my mother. I hate them all for that. No one had to choose. what makes my mother so special that everyone coddles her like a child? What makes her so significant? what makes her feelings matter? what makes her more worthy? I hate them all. every single one of them. I hate them.
AND I hate for every post I read of every person that was abused! I hate the people who abused you. I hate the people that left you. I hate that you were abandoned. I hate that you have no friends due to your illness or emotions or abuse. I hate the selfish cowards of the world that leave the abused to sort through all of this on their own. I hate that for all of you.
So I woke up like this. I woke up filled with hate. I can feel my face. It is all contorted. I can feel my body dripping with sweat and cramping muscles. I can feel the ache in my lyme disease knuckles typing too fast to care. I can feel the life draining out of my body. I can feel the weakness coming over me. I can feel the sadness returning.
Because I don’t hate. I am just so sad there are no words to the dictionary to write here that would convey the depth of my sadness. Hating would kill me. Hating would destroy me. Hating would make me regress. Hating me would make me just like all of them.
My hate is was momentary, temporary. I am now left with the weight of sadness. I would rather hate instead of feeling the sadness, but I just don’t have the strength, and it isn’t who I am am anyway. I am just a person who has been wronged so many times that purging the hate was all I could do. It’s been purged. I am the secret keeper no longer.