Monday, June 25, 2012


Hate is supposed to be a bad emotion, something to be shunned in almost all circumstances. I remember being slagged once for quoting a little Cobain ditty:
Hate your enemies
Save your friends
Find your place
Speak the truth
Polite society hates hate. It's all about peace, love and understanding, the peace train, giving peace a chance. And that's sweet, treacly sweet, like a mouth full of gummy worms.

Today I embrace hate.

I hate the numb patch on my left leg and how it's made me adjust the way I walk so people won't see me limp.

I hate that I even give a shit about whether people see me limp.

I hate the depression that seeps into the rooms of my mind when I think about the stroke and what it took from me — the time it stole from my life, the detours it created in my journey through this existence. I hate the absolute blackness that blots all sunshine from my sight.

I hate the fucking stroke.

I hate the ping-pong nature of my moods — happy, then sad. It's better than it was but I've still got work to do.

I hate the nights without sleep and what they're doing to my body.

Most of all I hate this current feeling of plateau — that I'm not getting any better. After almost two months of steady (and in some cases, remarkable) progress, I feel as if I've hit my peak. The bedazzled quad cane is gone, the gimpy walk is almost history, I'm healthier than I've been in years. Take that, motherfucking stroke and the people who want to see me fail.

These things are my enemies. These things I hate.

Now what?

I know what I want. I hate not knowing if it will come to pass.


Anonymous said...

Hate the stroke with the same sort of passion you bring here.

Anonymous said...

Hate works for me.