Posted in Musings

The Art of Hating Someone

Disclaimer regarding the image: No, I’m not a raging alcoholic (although it probably has more to do with circumstance than free will) and this is not a drunken rant. As I went through the gallery, this picture seemed to suit the event of general rambling regarding dysfunctional emotions. Go figure.

It’s getting harder and harder to hate people as I grow older. It was quite a lot easier to do at a time when I didn’t have this messed up philosophical pot pourri that I harbour in my head today that’s part nihilism, part stoicism and (a large) part post-positivist pluralistic realism. Every complicated thought finally spirals down to “everyone has a different truth that’s as valid as mine, and even if it weren’t, what was the point of it all anyway?”. Yes, you’re right, my astute mental observations hardly ever make sense.

Hate is a strong word. But sometimes it’s the one thing that can get you through a hard time. It’s so much easier to simmer in loathing than to dab in virtuous behaviours like acceptance.

According to Freud, hate is a question of self preservation; an ego state that wishes to destroy the source of its unhappiness. Sounds about right, I say. Except when you’re too empathetic for your own good, with a dash of self-loathing and a generous sprinkle of assorted insecurities, and end up a soupy cauldron of unnecessary guilt. You keep having to second guess yourself, wondering if the real issue in all of this is with the other person, or if you were simply too weak to accept a reality that doesn’t suit your choice and failed to give an appropriate response to specific circumstances. Maybe it really was all your fault.

Appropriate hatred is also difficult to attain and maintain for another reason – it takes enormous effort. The adrenaline rush of shock or disgust at betrayal wanes over time, and it keeps getting harder to maintain the same level of focus in dealing with one’s nemesis. Especially when you factor in that yours truly is rather lazy at heart. Any endeavour that requires sustained efforts get sidelined in favour of random spurts of pointless activity, and this extends to ventures such as embroiling oneself in emotional turmoil.

The tricky thing is that indifference isn’t easy to come by either. You’d think it ought to be easy to put some things to rest over time, but nooooooo. It just has to be that annoying self-deprecating obsessive pre-occupation with people that neither amounts to total abhorrence nor leads to a generous, albeit patronising, espousing of differences.

Hate means never having to say you’re sorry. I’m just a girl standing in front of a universe asking it to let me hate better.


Disclaimer about the other disclaimer: A couple of swigs at the bottles never hurt anyone, did it.

*Passes out*


A wayward thinker hiding behind the facade of necessary courtesies

3 thoughts on “The Art of Hating Someone

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