I hate my life. I live in a place I don't really want to live and have to commute every day (all the way across town, no less) to the house I was asked to leave where I'm not wanted to do something I never wanted to do.
I hate my weakness. College is done for me. If I can't get through the lowest level classes for what I want to do, what's the point? And I'll never know if the real reason is lack of ability or lack of time so I'll have to live with that uncertainty, but I do know for sure that there is a lack of will.
I hate my ex-wife. I am expected to have sympathy for the situation she has been left in, but shouldn't expect understanding for my own. I've been coming to realize that I hate the fact that she, the woman who cast me aside, is now in a "committed relationship" while I am out here in the cold, alone and hellishly lonely. I have drunk the poison and expect others to die.
I hate my depression. And I know that's what it is. If I didn't, I'd be far worse off than I am now. And it's probably not a situation that will eventually resolve. I've probably been somewhat depressed most of my life and I'm not the first one to notice.
I hate everything that is I.
And why am I telling you all this? For three reasons:
1. Even though I hate everything and everybody, I don't hate you very much. And I know that I don't really hate you at all, I'm just seeing everything through hate filled glasses.
2. Even despite the hate, you are the only folks I feel I can truly be open with and vulnerable and say these things.
3. I'm trying to give myself a Christmas gift, perhaps the only one I have to give. I'm trying to forgive myself. It's hard to accept forgiveness at the best of times, but when I'm a walking wound, it's almost impossible. But my mind can see the reactions to pain and hurt and loss. And that's a start.
So there you have it. My self-absorbed Christmas entry. It's not tinsel and flowers and cute children (and, for those of you wondering, they are cute and I don't hate them). I'm too busy fighting off the pigfuckers.
And maybe they are pigfuckers that only I can see. But they're real for me. And I can't stop. Because, despite the hate, I still have my creed, and I refuse to let the pigfuckers win, even if I'm getting blown out at the end of the third quarter.
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