After writing this last night:
I’ve started to think that happy feelings are just negative ones in disguise. What is love? Well how about this: Love is pain and guilt and shame and fear and greed and negativity merely rolled into one and packaged as a good emotion. It’s all just a lie.
I’m beginning to see that world is just a mix of black and white, dark and light. And I’m thinking that maybe this is just another thing I need to accept. That the popular romanticized ‘perfect love’ doesn’t actually exist. Because maybe perfect love is acceptance of all those negative feelings? Wouldn’t that make it truly unconditional?
After writing that last night, I just sat there in the bath this morning, thinking about a certain someone, and I just sat there thinking, “I hate you. And now you probably hate me too. Oh the sweet taste of vengeance. This is what perfect love must feel like.” And then I started giggling hysterically, trying to absorb every last drop of pain, revelling in the way I hurt you; the way I loved you.
I feel like a psychopath.