I hate myself. I don’t want to do this to my children any more. I don’t want to be the reason that my kids are destroyed. I am destroying them. I am destroying them. I am destroying them and I can’t stop. I don’t want to do this any more. I wish I would have been the one to die. Although I am glad she doesn’t have to live in this bullshit of existence, I wish I would have died with her. I hate being who I am. I hate who I am. I hate my face. I hate my body. I sincerely hate my mind. I want to go to sleep and never wake up. I hate how I can’t find happiness within myself. I hate that I need others approval in order to feel good about myself. I hate that that’s only short term happiness. I hate that I perpetuate hate. I hate trying to love. I hate that I can’t feel love. I hate that my kids don’t listen to what I say. I hate that I’m the one who suffers the most. I hate that I feel like I’m the one who suffers the most. I hate that I am selfish. I hate that I’m selfish because really I hate who I am so it seems superfluous to be selfish for one that I hate so much. I hate that I need you. I hate that I want you so badly to come to me when I am feeling like this knowing you will most likely never come to me when I need you to really be there for me. I hate that I’m not that important. I hate that I am supposed to feel like I am that important. I hate that I have that need. I hate that I don’t want to play or have fun with my kids anymore. I hate how hard it is to find joy in their joy. I hAte that no one can fix this. I hate that I feel so unworthy. I hate that I feel so unlovable. I hate how complex and conflicted and crazy I am. I hate having to be strong and persevere. I hate that people foolishly think I’m good. I hate that I have to keep being something I’m not because I fear I won’t have love yet can’t really feel that love anyway so it becomes all a resentful bitter battle within my mind. I hate that I care. I hate that I want to care or be cared for. I hate that if someone was told to read this that they probably would have stopped after the first several hates because it is irritating to be in the presence of someone who hates so much. I hate that about humanity. I hate that there is so much hate in the world and so much violence and bullshit and yet all I can do is think about myself and my own hate. I hate having hate. I hate me. I hate that when I look into your eyes I can see so much love for me and the instant I look away I think you must hate me. I hate that the silence between us haunts me. I hate that it matters so much to me and I feel like you must be distancing yourself from me but the second you finally reach out to me , I feel love, and now it’s all ok. Or at least for the next five minutes of our communication process. Then I begin to hate myself again for letting that have a hold over my happiness. I hate that I have expectations. I hate that I want a life so bad that I could never have and I watch all the other lives and I wonder why I’m hated so much that I was created to suffer and want and hate. I hate that my life is better than a lot of lives. I hate that their mindset is much braver and stronger and more grateful than mine while they suffer so unnecessarily and immensely and it is all about some self righteous asshole hating that there are people who have less than them or look different than them or believe opposed to them and still those who truly suffer still don’t hate. I hate that you don’t text me first thing in the morning and tell me good morning and you love me. I hate that our love isn’t like the love we had when we very first began, when it wasn’t love but the love of the idea that it could be love. I hate that I’m sitting in a really cold house as I write this knowing that I will never have the ability to possess the means to make this house or any other house my own and beautiful and solid and safe. I hate knowing that I should be grateful. I hate that I’m full of hate . I hate me. I hate that the strength I attain comes from such raging emotion and it boils my soul and I can feel it’s reserves coming to the top and all the pain surfaces and I cannot stop. I hate that it’s my children who are in the fallout. I hate that it’s never something or someone who deserves it but my beautiful formable moldable impressionable, filling hate into their souls, children that are the ones who really suffer on account of my overflowing hate. I hate that I thought I was a good enough being to bring these precious prizes into a world and mother so full of hate. I hate that I feel so weak. I hate that hate breaks me down so far down and crumbles under my own perception of what I hate. I hate that I can’t prove your love for me to me. I hate that I feel like you are just appeasing me or settling. I hate that I think constantly about love and what that actually means and how is it truly shown when I can only see so much hate, meaning to me that perhaps all my hate about the way you love or don’t love me flaws the receptivity of your love. I hate that you do the opposite of what I tell you I need and it makes me question your love for me and I wonder if it’s that you can’t give me what I need but I don’t want to let you go because I love you and my biggest weakness is not hate, it is love.