I hate myself. Some parts only, of course. No, honestly, most of myself. I’m insecure, jealous of those who are good at decision-making, at talking things out, at staying calm. I envy my mother, who’s good at saving money and disregarding my father’s flaws, for being so patient. God, I really need patience. I hate the mistakes I made but I hate myself more for making them. I hate being told what to do. I hate not being able to do what I want to, and I hate doing what I want to do cos it always turns out to be wrong. I hate being wrong. I hate being deceived. Yea, cos I “care” now. I hate okra, eggplant and ampalaya. I hate being jealous, especially to people who doesn’t even deserve to be jealous of. I hate being possessive. I hate it when I catch myself talking in high-pitch. I hate the people who spreads rumor as if they’re God for knowing everything. I hate false statements and information. Like most of the people in this world, I hate being rejected and disappointed. I hate thinking. I hate doubting. I hate feeling scared. I hate failing grades but I hate myself more cos I’m doing nothing about it. I hate being compared to. I hate floods. I hate feeling incomplete. I hate it I can’t find what I’m looking for. I hate my allergies. I hate the sudden changes of my mood, I hate those changes cos sometimes it’s uncontrollable. I hate it when I can’t control myself. I hate not being heard out. Again, I hate thinking. It reminds me of the bad things I’ve done. Oh, what have I done? Then I feel regret and guilt. I hate feeling guilty. I hate regretting, I hate crying. I hate trying to avoid things and ending up face-to-face with them. I hate hangover from drinking sprees. I hate the tarrying odor of cigarettes on my fingers. I hate unhappy endings in movies. I hate metal music early in the morning. I hate the discontentment people shows when I’ve already tried my best. I hate ruined plans. I hate not being appreciated. I hate being in rage. I hate losing. I hate disregarding my emotions cos it’s always followed with a bad decision. Always. I hate undertows. I hate undertows that triggers everything in my life, all my flaws. Oh, there’s too much hate. I hate myself. What’s worse is, I can’t stop hating. Worst is, nothing can seem to erase all this loathing, not prayers, not other people, not even myself. I can’t figure myself out of this, and I hate it. I hate it. I’m on my hands and knees. I hate falling into and not being able to get out of holes, I hate being stuck. And I’m stuck.