I don’t hate you, my brother Kreigh. I hate the things you’ve done. I hate the way you made the little girl, that was me, feel. I hate the way I feel today because of the things you did to that little girl. I hate the way I feel today because of the things you haven’t said.
I hate the way you creep into my memory to upset an otherwise nice day. I hate the way you’ve changed me. I hate the sadness I feel, the sorrow for that little girl. I wonder how her life may have been. Would she have grown up happy? Well adjusted? Successful? Would she have abused drugs and alcohol as she was growing up, to hide, cover up her feelings? I hate that you did that to me. I hate the things I did while I was abusing drugs and alcohol, just to cope with my life.
I hate that now at 52, I’m still struggling with life. I hate the way you affect all my relationships. I hate the uncomfortable feeling I get sometimes when I’m with my partner. I hate the fact that I can’t experience certain feelings, certain touches. I hate the sick feeling I get when I don’t feel like I have enough clothes on. I hate the uncomfortable feeling I have when laying in bed with my partner. The fact that I can’t lay unclothed with my partner. How I have to put clothes on after being intimate. Because of you, you make my partner uncomfortable too. Maybe you make them feel shamed.
I hate that I’ve had to live this life for 44 years. I hate the fact that no one thought to help me when I was young. No one thought this was important enough to get me help. Only after multiple attempts at suicide did I help myself and search for help.
I hate that I have to go through therapy now and stir up all these feelings. It was simpler to keep them inside, cover them with alcohol. It’s difficult now to face these thoughts and feelings. Once again disrupting my life.
I hate the lack of self worth I have. I hate faking it, faking life, like it’s ok. It’s not! I hate that today I finally, yes finally, took a shower and cleaned myself up. I hate that I have been feeling so small that I don’t even care about self care.
I hate that somehow, somewhere inside me! I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you enough to file charges against you. I don’t hate you enough to have you locked up for what you did to me, not to mention the things you did to others, the other lives you’ve damaged.
Are you happy, my brother?