Hate

It's a word I was never allowed to use growing up. We could never say we 'hated' something. I know it's a strong word and I know it brings up so many feelings and emotions with it. I don't use it very often but when I do I truly mean it.

I HATE my father. And I mean every word, syllable, connotation, infliction, etc. behind it.

I am aware that it is a problem- that I have some serious anger issues brewing inside of me. And he is most likely lucky that we are no where near each other- because he most definitley would not want to be anywhere near me. Somewhere down deep I get scared that this feeling will never subside or ever go away. That I will hate him until my last dying breathe for the failure of a man that he is.

These are the days that I can not find an ounce of grace for him- not a drop.