Why Do I Hate Repeating Myself Novels & Stories

I was too busy freaking out. "I didn't mean to" I tried to justify but I couldn't. The truth was that I meant to do what I did. After I had one over on him, I could have left. But the hate had bubbled up inside of me and mixed with the adrenaline, I went too far. That wasn't what I had a problem with. I had a problem with the fact that I enjoyed it a little too much. Do I regret it now? I'm not sure. I'm filled with guilt and self loathing. It's my fault, I shouldn't have done that but- if I was put in the same situation, would I do the exact same thing again? Probably. I would.

A small laugh escaped her, though there wasn't any real happiness behind it. "I know..." She lowered her eyes to her hands. "I know I'm very good at making a mess but I'm your mess..." I said nothing. She continued speaking, almost as if she were afraid that if she stopped, she would lose the courage to finish. "I don't do it because I enjoy hurting you. I hate that I do it," her fingers tightened together, "Sometimes I think I'm getting better, then something happens and..." She shook her head. "I fall back into the same patterns. I know that's not fair. I know it isn't healthy. I know I keep repeating the same thing," her voice grew quieter, "I wish I knew how to stop."

He’d been foolishly bold and it had cost him his life. “Did you run a nail through your fucking eardrums?” I snap. “I said he was going to fucking rape her.” On the list of things I loathe with every fiber of my being, repeating myself is well in the top three and it’s not number fucking three. The soldier standing near the door shifts on his feet, growing increasingly anxious as the hostility in the room skyrockets.

Reflective pain now. The ache of realizing emotional labor had quietly replaced peace. My chest tightened sharply. One aware pattern finally admitted quietly— “Sometimes I explain myself repeatedly even after people already understand me.” Another whispered— “And sometimes I keep talking because part of me hopes I can finally make someone care enough to understand.” More silence followed. Then another confession. “I don’t know how to stop defending myself constantly.” That one spread deepest. Because beneath over-explaining often lived another hidden wound: the belief that your truth only matters once everyone else agrees with it comfortably.

Feeling more upset with myself, I got up from the bed and went to grab a glass of water. Kill yourself, Adriana. Her voice rattled through my brain again and I closed my eyes shut, almost slamming the glass of water on the table. Why? Why do I keep replaying that sentence in my head? It was just a dream...right? So why, why does it seem so real...? Like it really happened before-

“Not that you're ugly, not at all. But he doesn't look like you at all.” “Look, I get it. Are you going to leave us at home or are you going to keep repeating what you think? I get that he doesn't look like me, but you don't have to say it all the time. It's boring and irrelevant.” I realize I've been rude, but it's just that it gets tiring hearing the same thing over and over again. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired and a bit confused." “Why didn't you tell me you knew m”? The two of us slept together that day and I don't remember a thing.”

Once I identify a reason, I don’t revisit it repeatedly as if searching for a different answer. But I had said it more than once now. I had said it too many times for it to feel automatic. Yet, no matter how many times I repeated it, it sounded less convincing each time.

I said without thinking. When the hurt flashed on her face, I cursed internally. This was why I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to say the wrong thing. I didn’t want to hurt her again, but here I was, the same fight, the same result, happening all over again. We were like a broken record that only worked to prove my own point. We were volatile together—or more so, I was volatile for her. Especially in the state my mind was currently in.

He instructed me, and I did. "Are you okay?" He questioned me again. "Yes! I am okay! I am fine. Nothing is wrong with me. How many times do I have to fucking tell you? Can't I live my life in peace?" She shrugged her arm, walking away from me. Why do I keep on repeating statements? It was annoying at this point. "If you claimed that you were really okay, How could you get to say that to our daughter? Now she is blaming herself for the deaths of her siblings? Do you want to lose another child emotionally again?" He spoke slowly.

That would really be nice. Okay I need to stop. I think I'm hating on myself a bit too much. I really shouldn't. Maybe I should? It's not healthy but I can't help hating on myself. I honestly can't. It all just comes so organically. Time to shut up now. ….