I hate you.

“Hatred is a very understandable emotion”

-Jim Morrison

There is a certain hatred in all of us toward certain things that decide to manifest themselves in different ways, depending on what kind of person you are. The news is polluted with stories of “angry” people without catalysts of discharging their anger. These people, instead of dealing with their problems logically, tend to act only on impulse and passion. Whatever triggers these manic displays of hatred differ from person to person, but the results tend to be the same, people get hurt and those that hurt get in trouble (sometimes.) Passion and anger are two very scary things to deal with, and in the right proportion can be catastrophic.

What happens, however, when the anger is towards an idea instead of a person? The concept of something can be absolutely disgusting, but what exactly are you going to do? The hate is understandable and explainable in your own mind, but there isn’t anybody to specifically to take it out to. Sometimes there is a “fall guy” that you can take your hatred out on, but that doesn’t really solve the problem. It’s like the old concept of cutting off one head and three pop back up. The more you fight the hate, the worse it manifests itself inside of you.

I hate being hurt, who doesn’t. The problem is that with a certain eating disorder following me around it’s almost like walking through a field of landmines all ready to torture me in some sadistic sort of way. These landmines are dormant, full of hatred and loathing, but at the same time they’re not permanent weapons of destruction. The landmine explodes, like a sucker punch, and you’re crippled into a mental downward spiral of wondering “why am I so awful?” The mindset of an eating disorder doesn’t make sense, but there are some things that are consistent. If the landmines are the injuring factor, those that lay the landmines are usually unassuming normal citizens that have no idea that what they can do can be so hurtful and crippling.

Imagine you’re having a typical conversation with anybody (not just somebody struggling with an eating disorder). You can mention something like shopping for dog food and unwittingly send off an elicit message of “you suck.” That might be a stretch, but it’s a pretty simple equation. Words can be daggers, even if you choose them with love and wisdom. Words, or the absence of, can be almost as hurtful, but at the same time the imagination of those with the eating disordered brain can be a bit, well, overactive. Lack of words leaves an entire novel of fill in the blanks, almost like a book of Mad Libs with a sadistic twist.

Right now, however, I hate a certain concept, the concept that only thin people deserve love. Recently a post was put online showing disgust over the fact that somebody was “fatter” than somebody. Is this really what our culture has become, a sort of caste system of alpha (thin) people and beta (not thin) people? There was a time in my life that I would hate myself because I am not thin, and I’d walk around all day with a scowl on my face feeling like a lesser individual. I was the scum of the earth because I wasn’t waif thin and I certainly didn’t deserve love or friendship because I was disgusting. This was a sentiment that I can only assume many other people (boys and girls) felt out there. It’s incredibly one sided, and there isn’t much logic behind it. Does a number on a scale really delegate what sort of people we are?

I’ll be the first to say that I enjoy having a good chunk of pizza and a beer, but does that make me a terrible person? Does that mean that I’m an ugly, undesirable sot? Maybe, but then again, that also paints the picture of the person that thinks I’m ugly because of that is just as ugly as I am, only on the inside. At risk of sounding ridiculously corny, ugly isn’t always on the outside. I’m reminded of an obscure song called “God Hates Ugly” by an alternative rap group Atmosphere. It’s irrelevant as to if you’ve got religion or not, it’s a concept of ugly being a physical state, but a state of mind. The people that think less of me because of my pizza and beer consumption are just about as useful to me as the bowl of melted ice cream like in the song.

I’m hurt, at this minute, enough to wake me from a sound sleep. I woke up with a pain in my belly and a tightness in my chest. This pain was something that I have experienced before, panic, sheer panic. The world felt like it was closing in on me and the realization that I’m not thin was debilitating. That image from the internet of the woman not deserving respect for not being thin was haunting me. I am a piece of crap that deserves nothing. I will sleep alone, I will find love in inanimate objects – – sometimes including food. That shouldn’t really surprise anybody, though, seeing as how the consensus of the younger generation is that only thin people deserve attention anyways. Isn’t it a losing battle if you’ve already got the mindset that you’re not worthy, why would you try to even try? It’s easier to throw up your arms and embrace yourself in self hatred.

I gave up on that though. I’ve spent enough time and effort hurting myself physically and mentally to entertain the notion that I’m not good enough because I’m not thin. Even in the middle of the night I was tempted to jump up and try to melt off all of the shame that I felt I was carrying around. I wished I had a knife that could cut the fat off of me to make me acceptable, but then shrugged that notion off. I wanted napalm to blow the skin directly off my bones so that I can be a walking skeleton, the way it feels society wants me to be to be acceptable. I squelched those notions by realizing I’m only me, and I can take myself seriously or be a clown. Laughing it off isn’t always appropriate, but this time I had to. The person that decided to share the derogatory post has just as many hang ups and defects as the “fat” person being chastised. The concept of “fat” seems like a deflective mechanism for those that are insecure in themselves.

I hate people, some people, but never hold a grudge. Most importantly, however, I hate stinky thinking.

gunshow

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