i think it safe to say

blind hatred for things is something i'm prone to, often and typically for people. for a long time i was under the impression that it is something i cannot help. that hatred, like faith for some, is something that's burrowed deep inside me, a beast so slight and surreptitious i must have missed its arrival. having chewed through my stomach, it lives content in my bowels, making me hate people and things.

it's not my fault, i often think. i don't try to communicate this to others, for what do they know? they have no demon like mine. it's not my fault, i say again.

in the past few hours, it has struck me. its been quite a while since i've examined myself and my values. there are these impertinent little things, like pebbles spitting up at the bumper of a car. each pebble ricochets upward, embedding itself in the folds and crevices of my brain. and i think about these. these little pebbles, i think about them for a long time. i don't try to get them out, instead i will them a little further in until they coalesce, like a thousand tiny hands held together. a heavy rock right in the centre of me.

why have i done this? at this time i am stuck, weighted, by this rock inside me. it is not a monster of hatred; there lives no sentient creature of evil inside me. it's just this stupid rock.

///

in recent times (the last 24 hours or so), i've been throwing a tantrum about something so small it is but a mite to the whale of problems that other people face. i've decided that you can do whatever you want, say whatever. my relationships are based on my own connections with people, and not the insolent thoughts of outsiders.

you may think whatever you want. i can't find a reason to hate you anymore. you're just a person. you don't have power any more than i do, so why should i be afraid or threatened? you're just a person. perhaps in time i might grow to like you. it seems a lot of people do. perhaps it is something i'm missing. the bigger picture that i'm overlooking whilst scrutinising every trace of imperfection.

or perhaps, and this seems far more plausible, we are entirely different, and i should let you alone; we will exist simultaneously, loosely connected in a web, indifferent to each other.

p.s. aside from all this brooding, i have been consumed by work and school and troublingly endless thoughts. feel free to entertain me by asking me questions on my formspring. be as awful and politically incorrect as you'd like.