I Hate Myself So Much Novels & Stories

She was aware of the types of questions that would be directed toward her. After Crystal's interview, the situation worsened. People were now brutally trolling her. They had flooded her website and social media accounts with hateful comments. Within a few hours ninety percent of Autumn Collection's orders had been cancelled. She felt helpless. They built the brand through hard work, but a false accusation brought it down. She felt like she had returned to five years ago, when everyone blamed her and looked down on her. She received criticism and was held accountable for the same thing once again. She wondered what she had gained by loving Xander. Only rejection, humiliation, and blame.

Letting huge sighs out one after the other. "What's all the anger issues?" I asked, holding my jacket tightly until I cut every last button down from drawing it too far apart. Seriously, I didn't want to do that, but when I get mad, all I feel is devastation. I so hate myself. I rushed up when I felt like washing some of my problems away. After everything, staying alone would always be my thing. I wouldn't want any friend to come visit. Not even my twin sister. Let's just say I get sick of everything and everyone around me except water. My love for water never changes for anything because I feel light and relieved when I bathe enough.

It really hurts to be rejected over and over again and having to live with this hopelessness is driving me to the brink of madness. I'm trying to tell myself that I'm a mom and i should be strong for my boy. I am trying to convince myself that the sun will shine tomorrow but it's still dark and I'm groping through the darkness blind. I don't know where I'm going or if I'm just going in circles living the same day on repeat. I officially hate my life. I hate it. I hate myself. I hate what I have become. I hate everything. "Mama." Nicko touched my face.

Because she deserved to be stung. Not just an idiot. Not just stupid. But bad. I am bad. I am bad, and broken, and horrible, and I hate him and I hate myself and I want to die. It was a very, very dark plane ride.

The tension between us burning, aching, never-ending. God, I was so tired of loving people who made me hate myself.

I asked Ian while he shifted uncomfortably on the chair. "Not good," he said honestly and we both sighed. "What about you?" "Not good," I repeated his words and he smiled sadly at me. "I-I loved my mum and then I-I loved Clark . . . I still do . . . A part of me still . . . loves him and I hate myself for that . . . " "George---" "I hate myself," I whispered more to myself and said, "I'm so pathetic. I hate myself for being who I am, I hate myself for nearly being the reason my mum died, I hate myself for loving someone so despicable."

"Cry while choking on devil dick? Fuck, that's hot." My nails dig into the floor, trying to ground myself. Because the worst part isn't the pain. It's not even the filth. It's me. I'm hard. My dick is rock solid in my jeans, straining against the zipper like some pathetic masochist who wants this. I hate him. I hate myself more. I hate that I can't tell where the mission ends and I begin. I hate the taste of him in my mouth. I hate that my body is betraying me.

How I could abandon my morals? These questions were killing me.I lost some part of me. I hated him for this.But I hated myself for more.I hated to fall for that trap.I hated for not stopping myself.I hated I can't get my pride back.I hated myself, because even after this,after listening those bitter words from him ,I still loved him. I want to kill my bloody heart for it.For ruining me.For ruining what I am!!!!! My pride my respect!!!! But I can't just remove all my memories from my brain in just a second.Its too difficult.Every place reminds me of him.

I scream internally, wishing I could scream it at the top of my lungs till my lungs and throat ache. But would anyone even listen to my screams? They would hear it, but would they care? The tears are now a fountain, and they won’t stop. And I hate them. Every tear is a weakness in me. I shed them to only fill up again. I hate myself for even doing this. I guess that’s it, huh? Everyone ends up hating me, even myself. Did you mess up when You made me, God? Something is obviously wrong with me. Fix me, please. I’m begging You.

“Tell me again how much you hate me. Go on. Convince yourself.” “God, I hate you,” I whispered into the empty room, my voice shaking, breaking on the words as if they were glass shards in my mouth. “I hate you so much.” I rocked forward slightly, hugging my knees tighter to my chest, trying to make myself smaller, invisible. But the words felt hollow, even to me. Because beneath the hatred, there was something else—something dark and twisted that I couldn’t name, couldn’t admit. It was like a poison seeping into my veins, slow and insidious, making my skin flush anew just thinking about it.