Hate, it’s appropriate

Mama always said hate is a strong word. But, it’s appropriate. I hate you. She said it means you wish the person never existed, or you wish death on them. Again, appropriate. I hate you. With a passion. I hate you so much, I wish you didn’t exist, I wish you death a thousand times over, I wish you to die a slow and agonizing, painful horrible death.

You came to me, you barged in. You didn’t come politely. You didn’t knock on the door and wait for me to answer. You invited yourself. You came and overstayed your welcome. You truly were never welcome at all, but I couldn’t tell you that.

You took things from me. You took my time, you made me expend energy. You were exhausting! So exhausting, that I had to take a naps to have to energy to deal with your BS. You never left me alone. The only way to shut you out was to take a nap, but the minute I woke up, there you were, hovering over me, waiting to see what else you could take from me.

You made it comfortable for yourself, you changed the thermostat from hot to cold and back again. Always to make yourself comfortable, not giving a damn about what temperature made me feel comfortable. I had to cover with blankets, then rip them off when you would change the temperature inside. You had absolutely no consideration for my comfort, at all.

You turned all the lights in the house on the brightest setting. You turned the volume on the tv to the loudest setting, and you talked as loud as you could. You magnified every sound and light that came in. Then you wrapped my head a towel and twisted it so tight I thought my head might explode. it didn’t, but you kept going. I don’t know why you chose to torture me in this way, but you’re an ass.

Just when I thought you were the absolute worst, you made me a meal. I was shocked, completely taken aback. I had thought you came in to ruin my life, but maybe you were trying to change? Maybe you were going to be better? As I sat down to the meal you made, all hope was lost, it wasn’t a nice meal after all. It made me want to vomit it looked so gross. I quickly declined. You mocked me with a sly smirk on your face, you knew you won again at whatever this sick and twisted game you were playing was. Jerk.

You secretly slipped me something to cause my bowels to move. They moved, fast. You sat back and laughed at me as I ran to and from the bathroom. You thought it was funny, and you mocked me while I was painfully running to and from. I truly couldn’t understand why you were doing all of this.

Whenever I would sit to relax, that wasn’t okay with you. You took the opportunity to hurt me more. Physically hurt me. You grabbed my legs and arms and squeezed until they felt bruised and sore, somehow not leaving a single mark. I don’t understand why you had to be so mean. I wish you would have just left me alone. It really wasn’t nice of you.

Perhaps the worst of your transgressions, was when you tried to suffocate me. You failed. But you gave it an honest go. You squeezed me so tight that I couldn’t get the air I so desperately needed to survive. You didn’t let go. No matter how many times I told you to stop, no matter now many times I tried to escape your grip, you held strong like a vice. You wouldn’t release. I realized, you were trying to kill me. You son of a bitch.

Not today, I thought. I knew I needed help to loosen your grip. My husband took me, with you still clinging so tightly to me, to the hospital. They brought me back, and immediately tried to pry you off of me. They failed, but they did loosen your grip. Over the next 3 days, they loosened it more. You grew weaker. You couldn’t hold on as strong. You still had hold, but your grip was weaker. They sent us home, you still had a hold on me, but over the next week you grew tired until you finally released me. You looked like shit.

You hung around for a while though. You didn’t leave right away. You kept up your unwelcome shenanigans. Until one day, you finally decided you were bored with me. You decided to go find someone else to mess with. Not cool, so not cool. You should go curl up in a ball and die. I’m not even kidding. Seriously. Nobody wants you, you’re not even worth the space you take up.

When you left here, you even took part of my mind with you. Thief. You stole from me, and I want it back. You have stolen from a lot of people. You have stolen their moms, dads, sisters, brothers, grandparents, aunts, uncles, children, friends. You have stolen their health. You have stolen from all of us. I think it’s safe to say…

Coronavirus, we all fucking hate you.