11.5.2000

I used to be jealous of all the things other people had. Not bitter, just plain old jealous. I envied their lives and friends and drawing skills and their parents and their trips and the books they had read. I would've done almost anything to change my life with theirs. This was most of the times. Occasionally I then had those irrational moments when I was convinced that my life was great and that I'd never want to change it with anyone else's experiences. This was accomppanied with thoughts that my life was hard to make me more mature and a better person and that there was some ultimate plan for all living beings and that there was a reason why I'd feel bad and that if I felt terrible, it'd mean that someone else felt less terrible. Of course it wasn't a question of one night only. I'd believe something one day, the complete reverse the other day. You have to bear in mind that I was very young then, and although I felt old and worn and thought I should've been hundred years old instead of what I was, I was still a child. There's the need to explain everything. When you're a kid, just irrational, no-reason bad luck is no option. Because there has to be a reason for everything, there has to be something you can trust. Otherwise it's simply unbearable. Excuses are the easiest way out of it.
I never thought of myself as child back then. I don't know if anyone ever thinks they're children when they're children, if they ever blame their immaturity for anything. I don't think so though. There were a lot of mean kids. And they did so much to look so mature. They'd act like little adults, fuck up their own heads like they thought adults did. They'd all act a certain role, all do certain stuff to impress their peers. Being a melancholoc depressed child is no different from being a rowdy, mean kid. Not really.
A said she was a mean kid. That she was a stupid kid. She hated her childhood memories because she couldn't accept them, deal with the fact that what's gone is gone and what's done is done, and you just need to get your act back together and continue. She'd feel terrible and bitter because of the people who'd been mean to her and she couldn't stand a sight of kids. She said that all kids were mean, terrible, selfish creatures. I guess she's a bit better now. She just has so much rage inside her. She can't forgive.

I can't regard myself as a dumb kid. I can't condemn my mistakes. I can't bitch at myself for trusting people because I never trusted people. A thinks that's a virtue. A thinks things like that matter. That's there's some kind of line which divides bad people and good people, that all of us are judged, that all our deeds are either good or bad. She's very much like a fundamental christian in that way. She'd never admit that because she thinks religion is stupid. She's black and white that way.
I can't be angry. It's both a question of bad luck and good luck. I can't hate because I (can) understand. I don't accept things but I generally understand why they're done. Sometimes even too much. Some things need to be condamned, they say, but I can't. Not really. Because I still believe there's a reason for everything, that there are things that need to be done, however bad or good the public opinion thinks they are. Sometimes I don't want to understand, I don't want to accept. Hatred can be protective, in some cases. It can give you reasons, it can give you a way to reject everything unpleasant. Hatred masks the pain.

Hatred can also be an energy. It can be a good thing. I've never been able to see hatred as a good thing though. Not in the people I know. Not being angry makes me sit still and just wait till I die. There's a paralyzing effect of justifying. I don't hate hatred. There's a saying on that, "never hate hatred, never be afraid of fear". I don't know if there's an equivalent of that in English. I'm too tired to find out. I can accept a certain level of it but I can't accept manifesting it. I can't accept any thing done because of it, inspired by it. That's why I can't use it as an energy either. There's something very fundamental in that. Hatred, to me, means hurting others. You do anything else but you don't hurt others. If you can't express your anger without wanting to hurt someone, you don't express it at all.
I'm afraid of hatred. I'm afraid of the things it makes people do.
(So, yeah, there's a limit even my let's-all-understand-each-other -philosophy doesn't cross.)

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