i wanted to get me back in the prime

today i feel: inconsolable
today i'm hearing: semisonic -- feeling strangely fine
today i'm thinking: consumption is a volatile force

I once had a conversation with my brother (one of the few at the time that refused to go awry) about how Semisonic wrote the most beautiful love songs of their time. Every time I find myself in a state of disrepair wherein I refuse myself any well-developed feeling, I discover that I'm listening to them. I guess this means that I've never been truly irreparable.

I got a call from Paige about an hour ago. Every now and then I find myself forgetting just how incredible of a person she is. And I'm not just saying this because I have the very first Paige Fan Club card in my bookbag; she really is an absolutely amazing person. She's wonderful at discerning and comforting what isn't being said. And she understands why it isn't being said. And she doesn't judge you for it. That's incredible to me. I like to think--mostly because I'm certain it's true--that I could come to Paige with any crisis involving anyone I've ever known, and she would know how to fix it. Or, if she didn't know how to fix it, she'd know what to do to lead me down the path to eventual repair. I can give her a ring and say something as simple as, 'I feel like shit', and she knows how to make that better. Without knowing an entire story, she can pass on the proper sword to the protagonist. That's beautiful. I wish I could do half of that sometimes. But if I could, I probably wouldn't be so amazed of her and that would be a terrible loss in my life.

I discovered the other night that I've never honestly hated someone in my life. I've been pissed as hell and hurt and irritated and I've said some pretty terrible things about some rather unfortunate people. I've forsaken the needs of individuals on account of my dislike of them, but I've never truly, honest-to-God hated someone. And I discovered this by discovering true hatred of an individual. Now, please note that nothing caused this hatred outside of the particular actions of said individual and their conflicting forces towards my particular belief system. No one 'made me' hate this person, despite what they may think. I came into this blossoming of hatred on my own. And it's a terrible, terrible feeling. I was discussing this discovery with Stacy the other day because I'm honestly overwhelmed by the fact that I actually hate someone and everyone I thought I might have hated turned out to be paltry matters, and she put it into a very nice statement. When you hate someone--really, really hate them--it puts everything into perspective. I suppose the same can be said true for when you really love someone, but let's not get into that just yet.

See, I've disliked people a great deal. I've said very cruel things about these people. I have been called equally cruel things by them. My first real encounter with possible hate was when I was very young and a man of God damned my father. Now, as many of you know, it is not wise to fuck with my da in my presence. But this dislike did not manifest itself into hate, but fear. There were extenuating factors for this occurance, but the fact still remains. I did not hate him; I feared him. Still do, if you really want to know. I'm a little too close to my childhood self to escape that ever. The second time I can recall was a few years later when a girl from school told me to go fuck my mother. Stacy can atest to this situation: there was rage. I don't get angry very often, as a rule. Frustrated, yes. Angry? Not really. Usually when I get angry, I get deadly quiet and kind of turn into my mum and I've been told it's rather terrifying. That doesn't surprise me much, actually. But then there are other times--times that very few people have witnessed, I'm glad to say--when my angry manifests itself into absolute, violent fury. JPalm would describe these times as my 'berserker rage'. He has been a victim of these occurances (which he deserverd and he knows it). This girl found herself in the threat of such an occurrance. It was a bad situation. Later, she threatened the life of my family and friends. I thought I hated her, and I was close. I will admit that I found some small amount of victory in discovering her premarital situation of extensive motherhood and scholactic expulsion at the ripe age of sixteen. I am not proud of that, but it did make my day.

Chowever.

I have never honestly hated either of these people. And anyone else I have ever found anger, annoyance, irritation, or rage in has not been someone I hated. And I can say this because I have now experienced pure, unadulterated hatred. And its is a fruit not pleasant to taste, but impossible to stop drinking. Hatred is not always vengeful or flamboyant. Most often, it is calm. It is calculated. It masks itself when it needs to in order to await the time when it is most appropriate to unleash. Hatred takes its time. And it is fucking scary. Because even when you don't notice it, even when you find yourself in a seemingly pleasant interaction, that hate is still there, bubbling just under the surface, biding its time. I have never had that with anyone in my entire life until now. And I am honestly terrified by how well I can keep this hatred contained when all it wants to do--all it thinks about from morning to night and even while I sleep--is how it wishes itself to be known in the most foul, violent, self-serving way imaginable, a way I cannot myself understand, describe, or compose.

Now, that is self-control. It's also scary. Because I have no self-control.

As much as I don't want to clean out my grandparents' house or get in fights with my mother or sit in a car with Clarky's mum and the intense awkwardness that will be found there for four/five hours, I desperately need to go home. It is a very good thing March Break is almost here. Because I need to build my self-control again or I'm going to pop like some kind of cork. And I really don't need anyone to bail me out of Jackson County gaol. Not a good place to be.