There Are People I Never Properly Let Myself Hate

Dear Delyara, I was taught that hate is ugly. That mature people rise above. That understanding is better. That anger should become empathy before it settles into anything less socially acceptable. So I became very skilled at explaining away people who damaged me. I explained the manipulation. The bullying. The disrespect. The cruelty dressed as humour. The betrayals. The power games. I wrapped all of it in context and insight until the room felt safe again — for everyone except me. I’m starting to think that refusing to admit hate when hate is what is honestly there can become another form of self-betrayal. Not because I want to live in bitterness. Because some wounds need cleaner language than “I’ve made peace.” Some people do not deserve emotional sophistication from the people they injured. Some damage remains damage even after you understand the person who caused it. I am not proud of the hate. I am tired of pretending I don’t know where it lives.