I have something to confess. I hate someone. I mean really, really, really hate someone. And I know we aren't supposed to hate people. But I hate them so much that I get nauseated every time I think of them. There are people I strongly dislike — you know — people I'd rather not be trapped in an elevator with. But with this person, I would probably have to kill myself if I was trapped in an elevator with them. I hate them that much.
And I hate that I hate them. One, because I try my best not to hate people. And two, because they are a member of my family. I know we all have black sheep in our family or relatives we wish didn't come to Christmas dinner, but I don't think anyone hates a member of their family as much as I do this one person. They lie. They are selfish. They don't care about anyone but themselves. Because of their ways, acts, and personality, they have hurt the people closest to me. And I can't properly put into words how that makes me feel.
I know forgiveness is key. But I'm afraid I'll never be able to forgive them for what they've done to my family. To their own family. Even if I am ever able to forgive this person, I'll never forget. I'll never be able to truly consider this person a member of my family again. Which is sad, because when I was little I used to adore this person. I would always be excited when they'd come to visit. Then I grew up and learned what kind of person they really were.
Hate is a strong and debilitating emotion. It makes you say things you regret even if those things ring with truth. It warps your vision and thoughts. It makes you physically ill if the hate is strong enough. I don't want to hate anyone. But this person makes it impossible.