Why Be A Hater When You Can Be a Fan

We rarely hate those with less.

We reserve our hatred for people who have more than we do, who have the things we secretly desire or wonder about.

Hatred is big and vague like a dark sheet over furniture, like a handkerchief over a gun. You have to peel it back to see the thing you’re looking to use.

If it’s anger, then you have some shit inside that needs to get out. The important thing is to get it out, not to find someone to catch it.

If it’s contempt, watch out. It’s contagious and always attacks the host.

If it’s bitterness, you’d better act quickly. Something is eating away at your insides, closing in on your heart, digesting your hope.

If it’s loneliness, well, you know how to fix that.

And if it’s jealousy, you’re in luck. You’ve just discovered something about yourself, a vacancy you need to fill, or at least new knowledge to acquire.

You have to realize that hate is not about the other person. It’s always about you.

With hate, it’s the one holding the gun who receives the blast, tricked by the noise and the direction of the barrel.

Hate hurts the giver. It creates more holes in you. It pushes you away from what you need to know to repair yourself. And, the longer you allow hate to cloak your weapons, the more you’ll keep firing, the farther from the truth you’ll be, and the larger the holes will be for you to mend.

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