Hate is a strong word.
A long time ago, there breathed a girl by the name of Ira.
She was the same as you and me, and took joy in the very things every young
girl does. She would often play with her dolls, tea sets and dress up her teddy
bear in pretty ribbons. Ira had a few friends, but in her mind, she considered
them more as acquaintances. She was
often left out in groups, and never had anyone come over to play with because
she was afraid that if she asked, no one would come. You see, even though Ira was
shy, she was quick to label others, and predict their actions, whether they
were accurate or not. If she would only try, try to give other girls the
benefit of the doubt, she may surprise herself and make a friend. But she did
not. Although in the beginning some of the girls were indeed cruel and
excluding, not everyone was so. But Ira became hardened and wary of others,
repeatedly telling herself that they were talking behind her back, and
purposefully scheming to leave her out. And this was her folly. As the years
passed, and Ira grew older, so her heart grew bitter towards others. She too often let herself falsely accuse
everyone around her of exclusion, but what she did not realize was that
she in turn, was cutting herself off from everyone else.
As a way of coping with her loneliness, she kept a journal
of her thoughts and feelings, and wrote in it throughout the years. In the
beginning, it was a good thing, and something that helped Ira figure out what
to do. But slowly, her focus became something else, and her words became
hateful, and drifted from figuring out the problem to writing hurtful words about others.
In the back of her mind, Ira knew this was wrong…but it felt good.
Day by day, her mind, body and soul were consumed with
hateful thoughts, and the anger swelling up inside of her heart was so immense,
it started to overtake her whole being. Wrath was emitting from her body,
becoming an obsession so great, she was desperately trying to find an escape.
She hated the other girls. She hated everyone she knew, and completely despised
anyone who came her way.
One day, after a long day exhausting day, Ira was so angry and
fed up with the world; she ran outside and brought her journal with her. She
hated everything, absolutely hated it. "Why was everyone so cruel?" She thought
to herself. They were awful. They were horrid. And she did not care that she
hated them. Anger poured out onto the pages of her journal. As the tears fell hot and fast from her anger filled eyes, she thought about her whole life and how the world was so completely wicked. Them. It was always them; they were the mean ones, not she.
Ira hadn’t even
been aware that she had begun to write about her what was going on inside of her. With a sudden jolt,
she felt pain in her fingers, and her hands stung fiercely. She suddenly looked down, and what was visible were two things.
Blood. And one word, repeated.
Hate.
Ira soon put it together. The thoughts, the pain, the words,
all slammed into her like a ton of bricks. She had been so consumed with rage
and anger, she hadn’t even realized that she had been writing so intensely that
her fingers had begun to bleed. She finally saw her obsession for what it really was, an addiction to hatred.
Wrath had overtaken her life, even to the point of
self-infliction.
Hate is a strong word.
These photos are a bit darker than usual, so I hope I didn't scare off too many people. ;]
If you're wondering - *No photographers were injured in the making of these images.* [;
The blood was completely fake, and rather sticky, too.
Nothin' like good old corn syrup, water and red food coloring! ;)
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