Friday, 23 March 2012

'Before I hated you, I was nothing.'

A former therapist once told me that the best way to get back at somebody is to be the best that you can, the best revenge being getting better or summat. It pissed me off at the time, because it just showed that she did NOT get me at all as a person and I really wondered what the point of me taking a bus, three trains and then having a half hour walk, each week, to see her was (you have to love how lacking the NHS can be, when you have to do a 6 hour round trip every week to see a specialist), but that's a different issue. I wasn't so ill because I was trying to get back at any one of the shadows from my past, I was so ill because I was trying to get back at myself for feeling and falling. If my illness wasn't based on wanting to get on people, than neither could my recovery be.

I suppose the point she was making wasn't a bad one, there is something utterly delicious about leaping back up, bounding up to the person who kicked you down and winking as you go past, but the shadows from my past are no more than that, to my present. They're the shapes and the movement caught in the corner of an eye, the whispers that come in the middle of the night, the phantom pain in an amputated limb. It's so easy to hurt a person and to walk away, not realising that your actions are the drop from which ripples can seemingly go on forever, and I suppose if you're the type of person who would hurt someone in such a great way, to drop a bomb rather than a drop, you're not really going to give much of a shit what happens after, anyway.

I realised this week that I have a strange sort of hatred within me, a permanent hardness that, paradoxically, also creates a softness that I hope I never lose. I hope this fire of hatred never leaves me, because it's created passion and compassion. It's all about paying it forward. My recovery, my life now and, more to the point, everything I can do and be in the future, owes nothing to those who hurt me. The fire that I have is not down to them and you will never catch me saying that all that happened made me stronger, because I will not grant ANYBODY the gift of absolution or credit. But the hatred I have within me is like clay, it can be molded and I've realised that that's what I can and must do- mould it and fling it- and I think now that it might be my greatest commodity, not something to try to hide away. There is so much to hate in the world, so much that needs to be hated, to be fixed. It's lovely to say that all is lovely, it's lovely to sit back and think about how beautiful the world is. Naturally, it is. But there is so much wrong and so I'm going to pay my hatred forward.

Maybe I could be tamed, but that's not what I want. I want to be wild and to hate what ought to be hatred, to direct my fire towards burning what's wrong. The world isn't beautiful, not for most people. The hate I had, and too often still have, for myself, the hate that had been displaced and should perhaps rightfully have been directed at those shadows, needs to be paid forward and that's what I'm going to do. Harness the hate, the passion and the compassion, to see what can happen when all that energy is used outwardly, when I can direct it productively. I'm not talking miracles, I'm talking hardwork and dedication. A drop, to cause ripples. No, a hail and thunder storm to create movement; action and reaction, change and development.

Always forward, never inward or backward.

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