Hates not that strong of a word. 

There is not a day that goes by that I don’t feel bad about myself. I feel bad in two forms: low confidence or self hate. 

Every so often I will feel really really ugly. Like everyone else around me suddenly seems 10x prettier than I am. I notice everything wrong with myself. I feel like I have to change my answers to look like someone else’s becuase I am not confident I am right but they are. I feel like I have to ask what my friends are wearing to that event that way I don’t under or over dress. I can’t just be myself sometimes. Sometimes! 

But pretty much everyday I have self hate. I hate that I live a totally different life when I’m alone. I feel like I am (and I am) tricking the entire world. My life is one big lie. I do bad things and no one finds out. Not the people I care about anyways. Then I go around judging others for their problems. I hate who I am and I will never be able to forgive myself for some things. I hate that I loved Steve. The guy I always write about. He still ruins my day when he’s gone. And I hate myself for not being able to let go. I hate that I spend hours alone on a computer to get away from the outside world when really I love nature and hanging out with friends! My bad life prevents me from everything good I wanna do. I like to think of myself as a decent person. But I’m just not. I hate myself. 

And the days I feel both of these types at the same time, I feel suicidal. I’ve never done anything too risky or came close to suicide, but I think of death as such a beautiful freeing thing. I want it so bad. I’d just never do it myself. I don’t think. I’ve written goodbye letters and plans of how I’d do it. I’ve told people I’m gonna do it. 

No one knows how bad I’m hurting. I use people left and right and they don’t know I am just gonna leave them someday because I’m selfish. Not in the death way, just leave. Stop talking to them. I can’t help but think what I liar I’m gonna be when I finally have children. Unless I’m still as terrible as I am now and don’t change, they won’t ever know what a horrible mother they really have. I would be living a lie still to them. And they’d never find out. I hate that. 


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