Saturday, July 16, 2011

Hating haters makes me a hater

Have you ever been hated? I mean truly hated for one reason or another. For what you are. For what you have. I'm not talking about some spat between friends who piss each other off. I'm talking pure hatred that would cause someone to literally go out of their way to destroy your life or at the least make you miserable.

I have. I have known and experienced true hatred. Hatred that was bread out what of what I am, bipolar. I don't care what people say trying to be positive and supportive. Bipolar is who am. It's not what I have. It's been a part of me since childhood so you can't separate the two.
What is it about me, that makes people hate? I wish someone would tell me. God they're so mean. I've been mocked and ridiculed by law enforcement. Told my wife and children would be off without me. Told I wasn't worthy to speak. Told I was a piece of a shit and slammed down onto counters and the ground more than once by law enforcement. Yes, I made my mistake of driving under the influence. But in my defense I was under psychosis. I was locked in a cell wearing nothing a paper gown after informing them of my condition and denied medical care.

This previous run in was no different. Bipolar is a blessing a curse.

I won't re-spill the experiences and attacks my wife and I underwent from my ex and her ex and their spouses other than mention they fed on pure hatred against me. They used my bipolar as their ammunition. The persons who hated me the most wanted to take away those I loved the most.

We learn at an early age to make judgments about the world we live in. The cashier at the checkout we're approaching has a frown on her face so she must be in bad mood, the person who cut us off on must've done it on purpose because they're a jerk. There is something uneasy about these encounters. We're put off. We shun these people, separate ourselves. We create a category for the "other" who don't fit in normal society. Fortunately, we think, "They are not us."

We have a tendency to throw people away because they do or say or write one thing we don't like. Or worse, be what we don't like. Without even knowing them. One thing. A moment. A blog post. A book. A sermon. A prison stint. A bad habit Or even something they didn't do but we think they should have.

Gone. That person is trash. I'm going to trash that person. For life and for good. And hate them. For ever and not even give them a chance.

So many things I never expected to happen to me. Me a victim. So I made victims in my quest for peace. A false peace. I was a haunted soul. One day God whispered to my heart in one of the hardest of places. In the middle county jail. "Sometimes we are our own enemies."

There were those that hated me. Like those law enforcement that night. But I had my worst enemy for years. I felt peace in that jail cell. A small sparkle of hope broke through that I hadn't felt in long time.

Let's face it. Every single person on this earth will do something you aren't going to like at one point in your life. We are broken people in some regards. We have a natural tendency to hurt and be hurt by people. None of us are immune not matter how much we would like to believe it.

So and so did this and I didn't like it. I don't know him, but I hate him. The world knows us as people of hatred. Last time I checked Jesus didn't call us to hate each other.

We simply don’t get it. We think we have grace all figured out. But we are wrong. It's like some big "nerdy" word to us. We know how to say it. But ask us to put to real use and we freak.

Our thoughts on grace are sub-par and screwed up. I think sometimes God may wonder what the heck we are doing down here? But unfortunately our relationships are infected with the disease of increment-alism. A sprinkling of grace there…a pinch of mercy over here…partial forgiveness for that dude that screwed us. Revolution doesn’t happen through bringing the crumbs and the bits.

What the world desperately needs are grace extremists, not a community of increment lists where our next door neighbors, co-workers, and enemies would barely notice.
And the results so far…well…they can only reflect what we truly believe. Perfectly mediocre…and lacking the supernatural.

In spite of the fact that I've continued to make mistakes, I've heard God whisper, "You're going to be okay. I have made a way. You will use all this to help others."

Really Lord? Why would anyone even listen someone like me? I'm still a mess. I don’t know how you are going to do this Lord, but I trust you.

I don't why some people hate. Let alone why they hate certain things or certain things about certain people. It’s still hard to believe sometimes.  What I do know are the lessons God taught me.

Those lessons showed me that God’s grace is limitless – and that I’m loved and beautiful even in my ugliness  when I didn't deserve it. I am utterly thankful for my story; not because of the hurts I created, but because I can show people how deep and wide God’s grace is.

1 comment:

  1. Hi. I don't think I've ever actually hated anyone. I always tend to make excuses for people who hurt me - much to my husbands annoyance. He thinks I'm too forgiving and don't defend myself. He's probably right. But it.s just not in me to hate and I get worn out holding a grudge. I was built to forgive. Where he is the opposite. He finds it incredibly difficult to forgive and incredibly easy to hate. People are so different and thank God for that.

    Please consider linking up at monday madness. (Linky for mental health bloggers) There are few of us, but we all need each others support.

    Shah. X



Where my inspiration comes from

A Recycled-Dad with Bipolar & Parkinson's, reflections on fathering and family life and other stuff thrown in'll love my Soap Box Rants

Blog with Integrity\\ Auhor Lupe Picazo

Why I call myself a Recycled Dad

I call myself a Recycled Dad because of the struggles with remarriage and being a step-parent and weekend dad. This is also about my life living with bipolar and how it affects me personally, my family and my job. It also reflects on the grace God has poured out on me throughout recovery from alcohol and an eating disorder. Recycled Dad is about my reflections on the wisdom God teaches daily on fatherhood and being a better husband in spite of being bipolar.

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