Covering The Hate: My Night as a Street Artist

It’s hard to explain how I felt when I read those hateful words.

Vastly different from the typical “I Hate” relationship woes and dating suspicions that I talk about here, this wasn’t a hate that I was familiar with or one that I casual talk about.

I hate school. I hate work. I hate to get up in the morning.

In the case of this blog, I hate that guy who broke my heart.

A hate that stems from hurt that rents our heart for a time.

I hate him. I hate them. I hate this.

But at some point, we stop.

We heal.

We move on.

This was not that kind of hate.

This was a hate that lives inside a person and takes hold of them indefinitely.

And even that, from my point of view, would be an understatement I think.

These were the words that stemmed from a person who had that hate, or at least had enough will to write them down on a poster for everyone to see. These were words that I’ve only read about on the news and in the paper, yet have truly never seen. These were words, or at least the same words from armies of people who have banned together with the intent of ruining us, but in reality are more like monsters under the bed who threaten our sleep.

I’ve thought about posting them here, those words of hate, along with where they were and what they looked liked, but I couldn’t do it, nor did I want to.

I didn’t want to spread the words created by either a terrorist in training or a rebel teenager that were written on a poster in a coastal beach town.

What kind of person in this country would write something like this?

What kind of person in this country would utter such words about what happened IN THIS COUNTRY?

I suppose it’s possible that I over-reacted.

Maybe those words of hate were from a trouble-maker like I mentioned who was just trying to either get a rise out of someone or impress his/her friends.

If that were the case, he/she succeeded.

He/She did get a rise that felt like someone had slapped me across the face.

The same sting and provoke(ness) that left me feeling shocked, angry and violated.

I tried to shake it as I continued walking down the street, but I couldn’t.

I couldn’t shake the anger that I felt.

So I went back.

I went back at night and I covered it.

I covered the hate.

Published by

J

J is a happily single 30-something currently documenting her stories of love and loss. Her blog, “I Quit Dating” features excerpts of her journey as she reflects on the lessons learned from the men she loved. A complete collection of essays detailing her walk away from finding Mr. Right in order to pursue a more fulfilled life will be self-published next year. She recently moved from Los Angeles to New York. Contact: iquitdating (@) gmail.com

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