BrickBat

I hate few. Though, I like to hate, i enjoy it as much as loving. Both come with a potency that is equally inebriating. It scares me at times that I understand hatred more than love, perhaps this clarity attracts the dark interludes I’ve wafted through thus far. I don’t think I’m alone in this, in fact I know I’m not. If you have breath in your lungs you know how to hate, you want an eye for an eye when it calls for it. Some prefer to push this aside and live righteously, i play on both teams. I plead that this isn’t negativity, but rather a deeper understanding of human nature and it’s catacombs.

I myself, like any other reasonable person despise those that hurt me and the one’s i love. I despise betrayal and disloyalty. Importantly, I hate myself the most when i fall prey to these accusations. My principles are extreme but they come from a place of well honed experience and excavation.

I was a weird kid, advanced and entirely creative. A watcher, curious and at times brash and aggressive. I said what i thought nakedly, sans filter. I was a square peg in a round world. This led to a singular exodus from many social groups throughout my school career, i just didn’t fit. I knew it, my parents knew it, my teachers knew it too. To put it simply, i was bullied…alot. From my entrance into primary education, i was pushed into closets underneath the school by classmates holding spindly dried, coconut tree branches reaching out towards me like witches hands. I was never scared, more annoyed by their victory and my surrender. It was always a group of girls leading the cavalry, on another occasion they brought me down to the bottom of the school property where a shallow storm drain ran around the expanse of school field. They pushed me into it. Drat! Foiled again. I proclaimed my displeasure to my teachers and principal; Mrs. St Louis. Being the principal of a school for young children, a forceful, wronged six year old was probably the least of her worries at that point, so i never saw the proper course of justice. I soon moved to another school in the city where my social skills were steadfastly terrible. I didn’t know how to be like them, cliquish and conformed. I fell on my face often and paid for it. My educators, convinced there was something wrong neurologically had my IQ tested. It was high, i wasn’t an invalid. That showed um. There was nothing wrong with me up there, i was merely misunderstood. I didn’t belong.

High school was hell in a hand basket. My mother was a teacher at a Canadian-curriculum based, private school so my brother and i were able to attend with subsidized tuitions. Lots of bratty, rich kids joined us. On my first day, I was targeted by a group of ordinary girls with the ring leader being one of no great beauty or personality. She was awkward looking, loud and abrasive. Mean as fuck. She gathered supporters like a tiresome dictator and turned the firing squad my way. I was picked apart for my weight, my character, my general person really. There were some who sympathized but it was always patronizing and irritating. What kept me afloat was the idea that i was better. I had no allegiance to these people, i only felt fury at the balance of power being in their favor.

I never really experienced any bullying since then, i traveled the globe and found pockets of friends everywhere who liked me, who had my back. I grew up significantly, i was worldly just not weathered. I entered drama school where i found my tribe, freaks like me. We loved and fought out loud. It was sublime in so many ways. My awkwardness was interesting not flawed, it made me all squirmish and happy. In this era, i met my first real love. I’ve written about him a great deal on this forum. He’s good for a story or three. But, i never really dug into an issue between us that is significant to so many.

Emotional abuse were words i typed into a search engine about a year into my relationship. I wanted to understand the transformation i was experiencing, the feelings i was feeling, like hoping he’d hit me so i could really walk out or justifiably beat him to a pulp. I read countless articles and lists detailing everything i was living. Was he a sociopath? Was love normally like this, or was i merely an unripe fool? It was like the bullying i was well versed in from high school but this was much worse, i actually loved this person. I wanted his happiness and knew forgetting him would be impossible. His cruelty was at first confusing then became painfully familiar. I blagged on and on about our problems to family and friends, desperate to find a solution in their advice while he exhausted me with long winded discussions about my fault in our issues.

Inwardly, i battled with my familiar iron strength and new pillowy devotion. I attached my happiness to his unknowingly. It was diseased and unhealthy, the whole thing. He got in my head and stomped around. Just like the internet said he would. Google is always right. I realized then that while i understood the world and it’s harshness, i was unacquainted with the world between two people, and how damaging one could be to the other in that intimate realm.  Finally, i broke out, leaving wretched and torn. It made high school look like an afternoon sail. It was a long time before i could hate him. But i did and i do, not all of me but enough. Pretty soon i won’t give a crap if he falls off the earth.

So those are two major instances of my larger experience. i know hate, i have hated, i do hate. It’s part of being human. It makes me wary of the brutes. I do love much more, i have loved and work harder at understanding it every day. I work hardest at loving myself.

C’est la vie. It’s a balance of power, dark and light, hate and love. We’re always tipping the scales or wobbling between them. Eventually you figure out who’s on your side, who keeps you on an even keel. It’s like Jean Rhys said;

“There must be the dark background to show up the bright colors.” 

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