(This has some feels so be prepared for non-multimedia related content to follow)
I hate everything.
Well, not everything, but most things. And by most things, I mean things that are enough to plague my mind.
I hate feeling disconnected and out of the loop. I thrive on human contact and social situations. Don’t cut off my air supply.
I hate anxiety. I hate the feeling of my stomach twisting and churning like a washcloth being wrung out by weathered hands of a woman whose laugh lines reveal more of a frown these days. I hate feeling my shoulder muscles, slowly but surely, tense and raise up to nearly meet my ears with a friendly handshake. I hate not being able to sit still and pacing around the room, trying to slow down my breathing as if that will slow down my race car mind.
I hate apathy, something that I felt too much these past weeks. Ironic to say, but too real to feel. It is a hurdle that my short legs can’t get over and my body stops myself mid-run, preventing me from dealing with the aforementioned anxiety. I hate how it makes me feel like I will never be good enough, but, I guess, why even try?
I hate the inadequacy I feel, making feel an outsider even among friends. Success seems like it lies on a completely different plane than my trajectory. Even when I do see it I am unsure if it is the newest version, possibly lagging behind the newest precedence.
I hate comparisons, even though I sometimes do it myself. I hate knowing how stupid and wrong it is to try to measure myself on a scale that wasn’t built for me, yet I do it anyway. Sometimes that scale was one that was built for me in the past that I seem to not fit. I hate how illogical that seems to my confused standards.
I hate decisions. I mean, choosing my clothing or other small things aren’t usually an issue. It’s when you make me choose between two things that I am trying so hard to formulate a win-all solution that will still lose. I hate when these decisions prevent me from doing something I love over another love. I hate seeing that losing score after trying so hard from the sidelines.
I hate crying. I hate how it makes me feel weak and stupid, even though it feels good and I know I need it. I hate how it makes my throat feel like a wool sweater with a drawstring around the neck that just keeps getting pulled tighter. I hate trying to wipe my face and making sure that no make up is smeared so people won’t know that my facade is cracked and leaking.
I hate ignorance. I hate how people don’t understand how things work and what things mean. I am no teacher and I don’t know it all, not even most, either. I just know to not speak on things I am not educated about and not assume, yet if I even accidentally seem to be assuming, I am called out. I hate people not understanding what feminism is today and not trying to. I hate people expecting things to be a certain way or certain races to be a lesser and for me to agree with it.
I hate being 19. I hate how pointless it is and how little it means to me and how I forget that is my age half the time. I hate how I can still be represented as a teenager, plagued with the stereotypes shown on a Lowes commercial of being disconnected, tuning out with music and phones. I hate how my age shows on my face and I have to prove myself to those that are 20, 21, 22 and older that I am mature. I hate how it separates me from those of legal age, my friends who make decisions at the same level as me.
I hate how society puts people in boxes that even I can’t not see and use to hold my bias. I hate how these boxes make it hard for me to consider doing somethings without the fear of being judged.
I hate not having a focus, structure, lane for my mind to run in. I hate how I can love individuals but hate them in a group. I hate how I can give chances to people who don’t deserve it and turn down those who do because of my pettiness.
I hate how my insecurities come up to get me, even though I try so hard for them not to exist. I hate how many times I typed “hate” in this and how it hit my soul and confused it with the meaning of a word as blunt as child safety scissors.
Hate is a strong word but I really, really don’t like it.