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.)