I hate that thoughts of suicide have become so damn normal and, let's be honest (aren't we always?! "Hell no!"), boring.
I hate the body that I reside in.
I hate not having access to sharp objects anymore.
I hate food, and the insatible urge that my body produces to eat the s**t.
I hate my father, who is a self-serving, hypocritical, mentally-unstable assclown.
I hate that my rage provokes more profanity as I write this.
I hate the fact that I want so damn badly to drink, and drink, and never stop.
I hate depending on people for anything, anything at all.
I hate love. I hate the idea of love and the application of love. Love is nothing more than a defined word in the dictionary, and an overused plot in worthless entertainment. NEWS FLASH PEOPLE! You are not destined to fall in love with anyone. There is no blasted soul-mate waiting out in the world for your tender touch. We are all going to die alone, so get used to it.
I hate myself for letting me fall in love twice before.
I hate the thought of sex. I hate that my father told me that I should go find a "friend with benefits."
I hate being weak. I hate the chest pains, the coughing.
I hate sleep. It's a waste of time, and serves no purpose.
I hate the world for seemingly reveling in the spread of chaos, death, and destruction.
I hate people who think that their argument is the only right one, no matter what.
scream I HATE ME scream