Every day or so I have to fight against my own hatred. I was attacked and beaten at night in a park years ago, really, years, and years ago. I should be over it. Yet my hatred still remains. And I have violent thoughts of vengeance. I never reported the attack to the police, which was a major mistake. Not just for my own sake, but for the sake of others.
So now here I am, deep in my own dark thoughts, where I do everything imaginable to the perpetrators. Such is vengeance. It is not productive. It is not even justice. In my fantasy, I feel as though I am in power over the perpetrators, and it feels good for a moment. A fake vengeance.
In reality, such a violent revenge would just ruin lives. I also happen to believe firmly in the potential of humans to change for the better. Besides, it was partially the attack that got me into writing. I've always enjoyed telling stories, but the attack "kickstarted" me into actually writing things down to clear my mind.
A whole heap of things have happened to me, cancer, schizophrenia, losing loved ones, but out of all, I feel the greatest amount of powerlessness, fear and anger when it comes to the attack. The other horrors are not to be dismissed, of course, but there is something about being beaten down by strangers, to have your life regarded as of little value by two other sentient beings. Something that scratches a certain itch in the brain. Something that won't go away.
Maybe I will never get rid of this hatred? Perhaps I will need to do battle with myself and my darker thoughts for the rest of my life?
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