“You understand, this struggle to live and succeed is going to kill you.”
A quote spoken to Hunter S Thompson in 1972
Fragility is a word that doesn’t really fall out of my mouth often. If it’s breakable, I probably shouldn’t be around it. I have overlooked the largest, most fragile thing in the entire universe – – life itself.
I have been using this poor blog for a battering ram the past couple of months against everything that pisses me off at that moment. I hate YouTube videos, so I write something nasty about YouTube videos. I hate politics, so I counter politics with doing an scathing post about hating politics. In other words, I’ve wasted a lot of time being hateful and using this as a catalyst for my own opinions. I do apologize, and to those of you that have been reading since, well, I think 2013, thanks for sticking around.
The original purpose for this “site” was supposed to be an open forum for spreading messages of inspiration and to open up your minds, and my own in the process, to different philosophies and ideas. Somewhere along the way I sort of morphed internally into this hateful person, in which I let my hatefulness effect my art. Maybe writing isn’t an art, but it’s my outlet. I used to paint, but it made me hateful because it never turned out on the canvas as I saw it in my head. Writing is way easier for me to use as an outlet of self expression.
“Find something you love and let it kill you.”
My life flashed in front of my eyes last night in a dear death experience. Although I’ve had several death flashes, this one particularly bothered me on a philosophical level. Why am I so hateful all the time, and all of a sudden? I remember telling people “I’m happy” and my heart and eyes would radiate that same statement. Now, when people ask me how I am, the response is inching closer and closer to “I’m hateful.” On the inside, I hate people that hate, and I think I’ve been stuck on that hamster wheel of hate for quite some time now.
Let’s deconstruct what causes hate. Simply put in a philosophical way, hatred is an evolutionary survival mechanism. T Rex probably didn’t hate much of anything, cause he was king of the dinos, but when it started getting chilly, I bet he REALLY hated the cold. (I’ve been thinking a lot about dinosaurs lately, don’t ask why). In modern culture, we hate those that are presumably a threat to us, or at least that’s where hate is supposed to come from. It would be okay for me to say that I hate the knife gang hanging outside of my house because I have a genuine fear of harm. For me to say I “hate” the all Puerto Ricans because that particular knife gang has a few Puerto Ricans is wrong. That’s not how hate is supposed to work.
Specificity is key in establishing a healthy hate for anything or anybody. My blanket statement “I hate YouTube videos” should be taken apart and given more parameters. Much like the knife gang, not all YouTube videos are created equal, some are more equal than others. I dislike certain videos about history because it bores me. Why do I want to watch what adventures other people had when I could go be creating my own? I dislike certain videos where people have opinions. Why do I want to watch something that might get me upset and want to argue. If I wanted to argue, I’d call my mom or something (just kidding, we don’t argue).
I was working last week on a particularly nasty vehicle and I made a statement that I cannot take back. It was, again, a blanket statement about hating a certain type of people. I should have specified and said “I hate people that leave their cars interiors filthier than the bottom of a dumpster that hasn’t been dumped in a few months.” Anybody, any gender, any race, any sexual orientation has the potential to be nasty, and I shouldn’t have profiled. Me dwelling on my hate didn’t make the work any more tolerable and it sure as hell didn’t get the quarter inch of grime off of every surface on the inside of that vehicle. My hate just fueled my already demeaned feeling of having to clean up after nasty ass people.
I will go on to say I do hate Thanksgiving. If you can name a single thing that is good and wholesome about it, I’ll be willing to entertain you. I hate food, I hate having to gather on a certain day because the calendar says so, I hate the idea of having to eat a certain thing because it’s tradition. I could go on. I will say this, why do we have to wait until the end of November to gather with family? Why can’t you eat tacos on Thanksgiving without being looked at as an odd ball? I don’t do holidays well. Perhaps you’ve noticed. This year, I’m going to rename it “Hatesgiving”. The negative connotation that I have with holidays is part of my survival makeup I guess you can say.
For the number of holidays I’ve had to excuse myself to the bathroom during a meal to cry because I couldn’t eat; for the number of holidays that I ran to the bathroom to throw up all the food; for the number of holidays I cried in the bathroom because I was spoken down to by a family member or in law; for the number of holidays I stayed in the bathroom because I didn’t want to make small talk; those are just some of the reasons I hate holidays. Thanksgiving in particular. Holidays are never fun for those with mental disorders.
So therefore, I feel my hate is justified, but, I’m not going to let it bleed into all aspects of life for life itself if fragile. The delicate processes of your heart beating in your chest and your lungs furnishing oxygen to your body doesn’t know hate. The struggle to survive is hard enough as it without adding hatred into the mix, without proper reasoning that it. I’ve been emotionally scared by more holidays than I care to remember, but allowing it to pull me down isn’t acceptable. I hate that concept. This year, I’m not going to let hate kill my happy. I’m not going to be a slave to making everyone else happy except for me, instead of the self hate that has consumed me, I’m going to work on self love.
This is my PSA to everybody. The holidays are tough on some of us, don’t make it any tougher than it already is by rubbing our noses in your “cheer.”
Besides, none of us get out of this thing called life alive, so why not make the best of it.