The wrong side of Hate

I woke up on the wrong side of hate today. Like a container placed by the bedside of a sick patient. It would seem that I have been in use of such a device.

The container is now full and I wake to find it was not enough.

My fever has not broken. My congestion has grown in strength. Where once it was a particular thought that would cause my allergies. Now I find the spectrum of that effect has grown.

Medical technology has grown so far as to diagnose imaginary pains and ills. But yet my affliction won't be diagnosed or cured. So I went to rest, container by my bedside. Only to find it not enough and me awake on the wrong side of hate.

Where I someone else I would sit on beds edge and ring my wrist and sob. But I know this affliction. It has traveled with me, eaten with me, caucused with me. Yes, I am no stranger to this affliction. Only strange for me, is the cure. But this time my bedside container was an adequate. I struggled for long ticks on the clock to rise. Wondering if this would be the onset of the end. It wasn’t.

I knew this would not be the day when I healed to a level that the contagion would be contained and I to walk out among the people. My allergies. So silently, I glued to the house. A ghost of my own haunting. So was I, prepared even if only subconsciously for this inevitability. I sat at my kitchen table and mourned the loss of all the things that I knew I would not have the strength to do today. I mourned the loss of the ambition to do tomorrow. Then searched the cupboards of my mind to find the will just to do for the next hour. Why can’t I wail anymore? Am I so broken that even that human skill is beyond me? I know that I will soon be inundated by the seasonal Joy and good tidings of people who just a season before hated and hurt with alacrity. I am not what I was! I cannot see a way to where I want to be. I am what I have become. I am awake, on the wrong side.

Not a hell of my making. Not a hell of my choosing. It’s just HELL. Here, locked away from the eyes of the outside, I cannot make them see. The hell no one would want to help if asked. No one would know how if wanted. And to this stage of reality no one would be anyone who exists. I am awake, with a container that was not enough. I cannot remember love. I was not visited by friendship. I was not held in the arms of the prophet. I am just awake on the wrong side of hate.

My God, I should sing! What tune should I hum? What words set to melody would dissipate my state of mind? When all of the solo words I could utter our gifted from the highest of Angels or the darkest of demons. What middleground could I find to raise my voice to? Hold my head, hold my head, it has become too heavy. Close my eyes, close my eyes, the light brings such pain. Hold my breath, hold my breath, it feels as proof that I am truly an abomination, of the word life. 

I want to empty my container and crawl back into my bed. I want to wrap the covers around me in a death shroud. I want to shut it all out. I want to start it all again. I hear the devil laugh. I hear the Angels back away. I know that God is on another call. And I know today more than any other day I am on my own.

On the wrong side of hate it’s hard to do anything of the lighthearted. But I must try. I go to the refrigerator to pour my lass glass of prepared Chai.