Mother of Hate

I hated people. I hated them with a roaring but insidious passion. 

Some time in high school, I made up a story about a woman who murders couples in love. As a bride-never-to-be who witnessed the groom's suicide hours before the wedding, she fumed at every sight of affection expressed by others, and would secretly target them for her nightly bloodshed. She never killed women, only men, and same-sex relationships were off her radar.

If this sounds messed up, it is. It also shows how messed up I was for many years. 

The worst part, I believe, was that I could hide that hatred. I put up facades like they're just wallpaper. It's a vice more than a virtue, and I list it as a (possible) virtue because, well, some people don't like gloomy faces.

Thus, not many people knew my hatred. Not many people knew that inside the mind of an overimaginative and off-the-bat little girl was a spiteful witch who once thought of her hometown in dystopian ruins. Not many people knew that there were some days that I wanted to run out and scream at people, and let myself go.

I managed to abandon that hatred a few months ago, with great difficulty and personal intervention. I went from distrusting everyone around me to, well, liking a lot of people. It's strange, then, to imagine that just a year ago, I did something that in hindsight was dangerously stupid.

I won't go into details about what happened that February night, but a few people know, and somehow I wished they didn't know. It would have saved them some grief. But then, they did help me through, in some way, even though I wasn't aware of their help back then. At least, I wasn't unconsciously aware of their help. I knew they are supportive, but... it's hard to explain here without deviating from the topic at hand. 

From time to time, though, I still have these hatred-moments, though not as powerful as they once were. There are still times when I feel like running away without a care, hitting people without a care. Always I rebuke myself with a "shut up and bear it" comment. After all, I've met too many nice and wonderful people to lose myself, and I certainly don't wish to hurt them.

Sometimes, though, I have to wonder: Do I really hate? Do I really want to hurt? Do I really want no harm on others?

When can the line be drawn between reason and emotion, if there is a "when"? If reason is embodied, then what difference is there between it and emotion?

Perhaps none?