That Thin Line Between Love and Hate

There’s different types of love. An attraction or attachment to something. An object. A pet. Or to a person: a spouse, boy/girlfriend, lover, or someone you get “fixed” on who may not even be aware of your attraction to him/her. Love of another person, reciprocated or not. Or it could be love without the romantic element, love of a friend. And then there is familial love: parents, children, grandchildren, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. All different types of love. An attraction or attachment. It’s amazing that sometimes a love can make someone so mad, they will scream, “I hate you!” You are lucky if you have never felt this horrible and powerful negative emotion that makes you clench your fists and your teeth and growl, “Grrrrr!” As the saying goes, “It’s a thin line between love and hate.”

Sometimes I refer to my mother as “the bitch” or “the old bat”. But I don’t mean it hatefully. I don’t hate the hefer. I don’t like her, but I don’t hate her. Pathological narcissists are just not endearing. She’s such an asshole. “Hey, mom, I got a job working for this Fat Corp.”

“Oh? Doing what?”

“I’m a payment processor. It’s pretty good pay.”

“Oh, well, so-and-so’s daughter is a computer programmer. She makes big phat bucks. She bought herself a big house and she’s always got a new car. Real fancy.”


Goddamn her. I hated that I took that job as it was, but it was better than nothing.

Love is not a simple, sentimental Hallmark card. It’s much more complex. Sometimes love isn’t pretty, or soft, or gentle. Sometimes it’s awful, sometimes downright ugly. Like couples who treat each other like shit. Have you ever known a couple that constantly scream at each other? Insult each other? Accuse each other? It’s ugly and uncomfortable. But they claim to love each other. Geezus. Or dysfunctional families who yell and insult, or threaten, and even disown children, siblings, parents. And some that brawl like fucking drunks in a bar. Sad. Sad, sad, sad.

I think the love one has for family is inherent. One is born with this attachment. And you can’t get rid of it. One might stop loving someone they once loved, but one doesn’t stop loving family. But love for family can turn into resentment or disgust or frustration. Distance, geographical distance, is sometimes the only remedy. Even when I feel disgust and disappointment and can’t feel love for my mother or my siblings, I know it’s there. That’s why I feel disgust, disappointment, and sadness. But, oh well, c’est la vie. I can’t heal them. They don’t even know, or won’t admit, they need healing. One time I dreamed that someone told me that these people weren’t my real family, that I’d been adopted. I was so relieved and happy. 😀 YAY! I’m free! I’m not obligated to stay with them! Whoopee! Then I woke up. Awe. 😦

It used to make me crazy. It hurt. It hurt a lot. Like a hammer slamming down on my head. Unconsciously, I tried and tried to please them. I was always ready to take care of anyone who needed me. Poor pathetic asshole me. I constantly got metaphorical slaps across my face. Some took advantage. In the movie Million Dollar Baby, Maggie (played by Hilary Swank) reminded me of me. She tried so hard to please her mom, but it was impossible. Her mom reminded me of mine. Her sister reminded me of mine. Maggie’s family was impossible.

Sometimes love is impossible. It’s better to let it go. Life is still full of beauty. Yeah, there’s a lot of ugly out there, but it doesn’t have to kill love inside one’s heart, soul, mind and expectations. Definitely, I embrace the light. ♥ The only dark I keep is my humor. 😈


About Poet Dressed In Black

Poet. Artist. Grammy of one, a granddaughter. Mom of three, son and two daughters, all grown. Individualist. Care-taker of Isabel, an agoraphobic, fear-aggressive, very nervous, delicate flower, Chihuahua mix.
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