Love to Hate

I find my bipolarity very peculiar.

I harp on and on about how I'm tough (i.e., dead inside). Seeing me cry is punishable by death. It's not that I find anything wrong with being emotional, but if I'm emotional, it just makes me feel weak and manipulable.

All it takes is one heartbreak. I forced myself not to suffer over it. In my haste to take shortcuts and recuperate, it was like I had mended my heart with substandard glue.

"You used to be so much kinder," a friend once said to me. "What happened to you?"

I didn't reply. I don't approach the subject. My defenses are bullet-proof when it comes to harsh words, criticism, and mean-spirited gossip. But all it takes is one little question, one tiny observation, about how I've changed: security breach.

"Why are you so full of hatred?"

That did it. Within a single second, I was sobbing. Hating myself for doing it, but unable to stop.

Hatred's a funny thing. You hold on to it long enough, it becomes a part of you- making it all the more difficult to let go of.