I hate you. Do you know that?

I hate you so very much. When I think back on all my memories of us, the negatives far outweigh the positives.
You are unkind. You are mean, and you are vindictive, and you are cruel. I hate you for this, more than I could say.

But I don't want you to die. I don't know. I know, perhaps, it's not even likely that you will over this. But it's possible. And it's suddenly become very real and tangible that you are going to die earlier than one would expect. Perhaps 20, 30 years earlier. It might be this week. It might be in 10 years. I don't know.

I'm not even sure that I want you alive because I care about you. I think I just don't want to see E lose her son. She's not got that long - in part thanks to you. I'd appreciate if you did this one thing for her, if you weren't selfish for once in your life. Don't die before she does. Let her have this.

I'm conflicted. I'm sad, and I'm hurt, and it feels as though no-body has asked how I am in weeks. God knows you wouldn't. I'm not sure anybody else will. I'm not sure I expect them to, I don't know. I've been told that people know, but they choose to ignore it. I don't know. But I don't like you.

There have been times of nicety. Sometimes, you have been happy, and you have shown that to me, and to E, through both words and actions. But I don't think it justifies what you have done, and so I hate you. I refuse, generally, to think about it anyway. I don't like humanising you. It's not fair, although it's what you want. If you die before she does, I will spend the rest of my life hating you. So, don't. Thanks. Fuck you.