They say that the opposite of love isn’t hate, because when you hate someone, you still care. The opposite, apparently, is indifference. Because then, the object of your indifference could run out in front of a train, and possibly the only reason you would have to get upset is that you didn’t think their death to be painful enough, bad enough, worthy enough, to pay back what it is you went through.
I have spent enough time convincing myself that I am indifferent, that I can be indifferent. But when times of reckoning come, and I am reminded of something, something small, something silly, something private… I seethe with rage. I seethe with rage at what has been, what was ruined, what could have been. I get consumed with anger, and suddenly, that train sounds very mild. Oh, if only worse things could happen… And no, you have no right to judge me. Because it is my right to grieve, and anger is one of the stages of mourning. So let me mourn, let me do it in peace, let me speak it out….