I Hate Myself So Much นิยาย & เรื่องราว

This is my home now. My luggage stacked like rubbish waiting to be taken out. I clenched my fist. Pressed my teeth together so hard my jaw ached. "I hate myself!" The words tore out of me loud and raw, bouncing off the shelter walls. I hit the seat with my palm. Once. Twice. "Fuck! I hate men! I hate everybody!" My voice cracked and broke and I let it.

As the clink of the woman's heels headed for the door, I felt my soul sink a little bit inside. God knew how much I hated this, all this level of sick and pathetic around me; I couldn't take it for another minute. I hate myself; I hate me. I hate everything.

I hated myself. I hate myself. I am filthy. I am full of shit. I was irredeemable. I should be condemned to hell. I deserve no happiness. I am horrible. The sound of my crying rang through the air in the bathroom, but it was not enough to overpower the voice whispering the truth to me. I sounded so pained, I sounded so broken. But it wasn't enough. I was still standing, I shouldn't be. I shouldn't be standing, I shouldn't be breathing, I don't deserve this life. I don't deserve anything.

Fuck. I hated myself for being weak.

I am pathetic and weak, no surprise there. It disgusts me, I don’t know why I keep doing this. I hate myself, my decisions, and who I am. I despise myself, and I can't stand myself on most days. That’s why I am rotting on the side, a walking shell, a doll that needs to be back to perfect health and form so that it will be placed by the mantel, where it won't make any moves. Where it belongs. On display, not looked at too closely, or you will see its imperfections, but pretty enough to just glance at and keep moving.

Love is everything. @Shybabe: I think the only essence of my life is to accept and be accepted. Every day, I wake up thinking I will accept myself, but I spend the rest of my day hating myself. I cannot look at myself in the mirror and stop hating what I see. I hate who I am. I hate what I look like. I hate what I’ve become. I just want to accept myself. Is that too much to ask?

My fingers curl tightly around the steering wheel, and tears stream down my face. I don’t know where I’m going. I have no plans. I’ve shut off my phone; I don’t want to see all the hateful things people have to say about me. I know how to hate myself i don’t need anyone else to do it for me. I made this mess, I fucked things up. I did all of this.

who i am. and i hate myself for wanting more anyway.

Looking at the mirrors, I had the same feeling I had back in the mansion. I know she was falling for me but why was I not able to control myself in front of her. So many questions were raised to me in front of my eyes. The face I was looking at in the mirror was someone I hate the most right now. I punched my right hand in the mirror, making the breaking sounds and hurting my hands again. It was like a disorder to me. whenever I was disappointed with myself, I hurt myself for the sole reason, hatred for myself. “What’s that sound, who’s there?” One of the staff shouted out from the bathroom and entered panicking.

“We’ll be there in ten minutes.” I could not respond. Could not form words around the terror choking me. How had I become this person? This daughter who put her stepbrothers above her own mother? Who chose being used and claimed over being reachable in an emergency? I hated myself. The self loathing was so intense it made me physically nauseous. I hated my body for responding to them. Hated that even now, even terrified, I could still feel the marks they had left. The places they had touched. The things they had done.