Hatred. The emotion that has been mainly responsible for sculpting my identity and making me what I am – a mostly angry young woman. It gives me a high that I have been riding for years now. Along the way, I have come across people who have sensed the sheer power of it and cautioned me, a number of them going to some trouble to point out the long-term effects it would have on me. While I always agree with them, in theory that is, I have gotten too used to the strength I draw from my hatred. A very laid back person otherwise, hatred fills me with a grim sense of purpose and ambition. While I am only too aware that I am being poisoned, slowly but surely, my system seems to feed on it as greedily as if it were champagne. Now that I think about it, they are both equally intoxicating, but then, the latter does not bring with it a deadly red haze. Maybe this haze is what has begun to colour and destroy the most valuable relationships in my life and has finally forced me to see the writing on the wall. While the faint voice of reason says that I have to let go and “detoxify”, so to speak, the other voice, that foolish one from the heart is reluctant. Drugged with the power of my hatred, I stand at the crossroads angry, confused and undeniably lost.

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