Dear all people who scarred me, who hurt me:

Although you may not have been aware at the time, you have all made an impact on who I am today. I am quite angry about what took place, across the board. I am quite resentful that you took it upon yourselves to impose whatever crap you had festering inside you onto a vulnerable child, namely me.

I barely even know who all of you are out there that fit into this category. It is a hazy wash of faces and voices whom I am writing to, so I address you as an anonymous group. I wouldn't say you afforded me any greater courtesies as a unique, special human being during the course of your destructive, self-aggrandizing actions.

Anybody who fits into this category is a dirty person, with a great amount of filth inside you. All I can say is that the thought of you makes me sick. You make me want to puke and spit on you as some way to counter what was soiled all over my mind and heart.

I do not normally speak such negative words this directly, but I feel the time has come to at least make an attempt to do so. You see, I can tell the difference between right and wrong, between cruel and kind, between love and hate. Although I much prefer to give others the benefit of the doubt, there is a part of me which has tired of sitting idly by letting others conclude that they have gotten away with obvious cruelty and manipulation. They are to be called out. They are to be exposed to the light which we their victims shall shine upon them. And this is not for the sake of the perpetrators. I could care less if they repent, or feel ashamed, or simply ignore my words. That is the whole point. I don't care about them, because they have given me no reason to.

This hate letter is actually synonymous to saying I absolutely could not care less about the addressees. But instead of turning off my pain and keeping it trapped inside me, I will express it to the world. Because I now know, as an adult, that the world will understand me and feel compassion. There are many, many people who understand the whole spectrum of emotions, including pain, and vulnerability, and love, even if the perpetrators are unaware of that fact. I want to give my anger and rage some volition, to put it to some outside use, and force it to give up its previously comfortable home inside a thoughtful, soft-spoken and caring person, namely me.

All I know is I hate you. I Hate You. And it feels really good to say it. That is one of the ways I know it is coming from a place of truth. I would like to use a few curse words, but this is a family blog.

So, if this is my forum for sharing, where do I begin? I could speak of many things, like the beauty of breathing. Or I could get more personal and speak of love. There's love you feel because someone is family. There's animal and even vegetable love, like for plants which provide beauty or crunchy greens which give nutrition. How about the love felt from art, as when experiencing a new creation sparked by the human spirit? These loves one takes for granted due to their directness and simplicity. They are unquestioned.

But what about other kinds that are more intricate? Friendship. There are levels of friendship, sometimes a result of choice, sometimes unavoidable, given. I guess the same is true for being in love. I have certainly pondered precisely where friendship ends and romantic feelings begin. Is there some kind of guage which is inborn for this? Maybe we look to society to give us these distinctions.

I believe categorizing emotions is a double-edged sword. On one side are all the things we believe that we know, things that give us comfort or discomfort, but at least we know them—they have a name, a category to fit into. They provide us a history, a family line, a network, a widening of ourselves beyond the self. They inspire us to progress in life.

However, doesn't one eventually reach an end, a question mark which cannot be satisfied by the convolutions of the web of life? Don't you ever feel that there is a need to stop everything, to die to the past and the present too, since there is really no such thing as either? Of course the future is also a silly made-up category. That is the other edge—the silly pointless crashing into yourself and those around you side of categorizing, where you come to realize the groundlessness and redundancy of what is considered a diverse, active life.

I am a bit fearful of sharing my personal thoughts in a public forum like this. On the other hand, I have at times wished I could have a place to kind of journal where other people might be able to reflect and compare their experience with mine.