10 Things I Hate About Myself Book Novels & Stories

His jaw clenched. Good. “You stood there. You let her slap me. You let her drag me through the dirt like I was nothing. And you said nothing. After everything you whispered in my ear. After everything you did to my body”. My voice cracked. I didn’t stop. “You know what I hate the most?” I went on, chest heaving. “Not the betrayal. Not the jealousy. Not even the humiliation. I hate that I let you touch me. I hate that I wanted it. I hate that I still want it.”

"It makes me feel so little of myself, I hate myself and sometimes all I can do is think of putting myself out of this misery" "Then put yourself out, who is stopping you?"

I hated him. I hated this. But worse... I hated myself more. Because deep inside... some part of me... wanted it.

Why do I even exist up to this point? Speaking of wishing I shouldn't have existed, something like "hating yourself" is just too cliche these days. You know, the thing some people just put out into the world because they want to share their self-hatred and the rest do it just to get attention? Like how people can confidently tweet how ugly they are and don't want the face they own, but they have no choice but to suffer in it. Then their followers decided to butt in and say, "No, you're so pretty~" or attack with reverse "hating-yourself" like "No~ You pretty, me ugly bleegh" or some shit. In my case, no one has ever disagreed with every negative thing I said about myself. I guess that's what

The world said he did. But then why… The building is covered with night. The majority of the employees are home. The office hums with silence. I work late, faking I am working on reports yet my brain is going round and round. The city is glowing in the windows-- Lights in the dark like veins. I should leave, but I can’t. My mind is mangled and dishevelled. Hatred used to be simple. Clear. Sharp. Now it weighs on, is dimmed with uncertainty.

“You damned bastard, what do you think of yourself? Look at yourself. Who would want to marry you? You are just a…robot, who only talk and do what is in your program, you have nothing like a man who all girl wants, Even if you were the only man in the world, I would still not choose you, you bloody dog face!!!" Angry and red-faced she was still not done. "And now I'm done with you. I was simply joking to your dad cause you always do what you want, you never care what others want, you selfish bastard; you are always arrogant and rude; you need a lesson. But you always make me feel low and belittle and judge about my character. I QUIT”

As much as I want to blame him for making me feel this way, I am way more disappointed in myself. Before I knew it, hot tears occupied my ducts and they flowed rapidly fast, and uncontrollably. A mixture of frustration, embarrassment, and confusion clouded my system. His presence is too much, and I hate how I still feel satisfied just by seeing him and hearing his voice. This is bad. So bad. I am really going crazy. ———————————————————— IMPORTANT NOTE: The Characters and Events mentioned in this book are purely fictional and are not to be construed as even remotely inspired by persons and events known and unknown to the author.

I usually sleep in here since I really don't want to go at my apartment that really looks like a haunted house in horror movies. "I know," I said. "And I hate myself for making Lyza angry." I grabbed one fluffy pillow and hugged it tight. Ugh! That's why I hate myself when I'm angry. I can't stop my mouth from telling hate words or whatever. Seriously. I should probably get a consultation for my anger management issues.

We're at the end!!! Woohoo! Where do I begin? So far, Hatred turns out to be the most challenging book I've written. Not just with the trope and the content, but both emotionally and physically. There were a lot of challenges along the way, but I made it. WE made it, and I know you're probably tired of hearing me say this now, but I truly wouldn't be here without your support. Hatred isn't just a step out of the comfort zone for me, it's a book that I found myself so attached to along the way and one I learn a lot from, so thank you all, for letting me write Eva and Emerson's story, for believing in me and for staying with me until the very end.

She's told me every horrible thing a mother could say. That I was too fat, too weak, too soft. That l'd never bag a rich man looking the way I did. I finally got into the car and broke down completely. Ugly crying. Nose running. Mouth open. Shoulders shaking. I hated myself. Hated this moment. Hated the world. Was it a crime to be fat? I wasn't even that fat. I was just chubby. But maybe they were right. Maybe I wouldn't want to be with myself either.