Faux Hate

You don’t hate me. At least…I doubt it.

Certainly not everyone reading this blog is a “hater” but even if you are I highly doubt you truly hate me. It’s not that if you’re a hater that you don’t fill the criteria to qualify as a “hater”. It’s that I don’t believe you anymore. I don’t believe your hate is real…

Jealousy? Envy? Maybe. Maybe… But really…it’s something else. And sadly, after observing “haters” for years now I’m pretty sure most of you can’t even find your own reasons for your supposed hate. One could say that you want to be a different person, or younger…etc. etc. but that’s just more of the above. It’s something else.

I tend to go back to my observation that most hate I’ve experienced over the years has been due to issues surrounding social class. And I don’t think that’s insignificant. But what does it mean? Simply put I highly suspect that I’m experienced as a very bad omen… Not a bad omen for everyone but a bad omen for many. Like a hint that a new Gilded Age has arrived…and gone are the days of dreams. Not all dreams but some dreams.

Humans have souls and spirits. People are intuitive. And I don’t think people know how to react to me…if they can sense my actual soul and spirit. They might not hate me as an individual per se so much as what I represent… But it’s not about my family or my privilege or my beauty or any blessings. It’s about the darkness looming. Not dark skinned people. Not the darkness of night. The darkness of a new darker age… And moved to rage that they’re losing time or losing their sweet treats the “haters” begin to mourn. And the prettier they find me…the nicer they find me…the more caring they find me…the more they feel safe expressing their own inner darkness. At least to some degree. They want to fight the darkness with more darkness…

I try hard not to lie. But maybe it’s easy to feel lied anyway to when you had thought so much in your life would be so wildly different than it is and somehow…somehow…it feels good to yell at me about it. Like scoffs in the audience at the upsetting end of a film noir when you thought it was a romantic comedy. It feels like my life as you observe it must be a lie…because if it’s not what does it mean? What does my existence mean? A harbinger of trouble perhaps.

Who else are people hating more these days? Blacks. And actually…I have a feeling they will and are making progress as a group of people. So maybe it’s easy to want to make them “the reason” too?

Actually…it’s been baffling to me for years. I’m not black and yet there’s something oddly similar about the taste of some of the hate they receive and what I’ve felt. I can just tell. And I think sometimes people, especially angry white females and/or non binary folks, try to make me a bisexual or a lesbian or “something” to both minimize me and to somehow deal with their feelings of hate toward me. Because they too can feel the oddness of it all and they can’t label it in a way to create a feeling of safety. But I’m straight (I’ve never been involved with any women or non-binary people in my life but always just men) and a cis woman and I’m not black so why do they feel so much of that particular kind of hate? That…fearful…determined…obsessive…grandiose…hurt…at times psychotic…rage. ? It’s not just narcissism either. And I think actually what it is is more or less death…

Yes, it’s death. Not like actual human death but evil death. Despair.

The “haters” see my face and then look behind me and sense darkness. And it’s not necessarily my evil or darkness but something hopeful coming to an end. Like my life lived is the final chapter in something that was never supposed to end in some people’s estimation. And most depressingly in their lack of hatred for me but their overwhelming grief at the ending they “hate me” anyhow. And surely there are others like me… Other people who accidentally trigger a similar feeling of loss.

The American Dream. Has it died? No. That’s not what’s ending… It’s something else. And I’m pretty sure it’s not my fault. Or my family’s fault. It’s just that this isn’t Heaven. This isn’t even Purgatory necessarily. So cling to truth. Cling to God… And please try not to confuse me and my own life with the fact that I walked by you and you felt a chill. Try not to confuse my place with me. Kids who worked in child labor in the US in the 1800’s weren’t the issue of child labor itself. Life can be experienced but it doesn’t just belong to us and the ultimate power over life belongs to God even as He doesn’t violate our free will. So, bad things can happen against God’s will as He’s all good even as evil also exists. We chose this path as humans…in the Garden of Eden.