Stupid Rambling Rants

What I Hate About Myself

I hate my body. I hate my big crooked nose, I hate how I only seem to look pretty when I'm wearing make up. I hate my chubby cheeks. I hate the fat rolls on my sides and I hate how big my hips are. I hate the scars all over my body that I've caused myself, I hate the ugly stretch marks on my hips. I hate that my belly isn't flat. I hate how big my thighs are and how much they jiggle.

But I joke around about it that way I can pretend I don't care.

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I hate how much I care about people. I hate that I don't seem to get the same care back and I care to the point where I get anxiety. I hate that I put others before myself.

But I do because I'd rather see others happy before myself.

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I hate that I do stupid things. I hate that I don't think before I do or say things. I hate that I always seem to piss someone off. I hate that I always piss myself off. I hate that I can never do anything right.

But I apologize even though they say it isn't my fault.

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I hate that I can't be a good friend. I hate that every time I bring something up, I make them mad. I hate that it's hard for me not to be jealous when they are together without me. I hate that I can't be totally happy for them when it doesn't benefit me or make me happy.

But all of that is because I am a selfish bitch who always needs to be involved.

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I hate that I get sad just because I'm not involved. I hate that I get mad because she's hanging out with him, or when they all go out. I hate that I should be happy for them; that I shouldn't feel resentment.

But I do because again, I'm kind of a selfish bitch.

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I hate how clingy I am. I hate that I always feel like I need to be around people. I hate that I always use that around my excuse. But it's true. I hate that I know I'm obviously annoying them. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. But I can't just not talk to them.

Again. Selfish.

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I hate that they tell me not to worry, or not to be sorry, but I do anyway. I hate that I always feel like everything is my fault.

But it kind of is, isn't it?

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I hate how sad I am. I hate that hating my body makes me sad. I hate that hating that I cate to much makes me sad. I hate that hating that I do stupid things, hating that I can't be a good enough friend, hating that I'm not involved, and hating that I'm clingy make me sad.

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I hate that I'm not deserving of the people I want to call my friends. I hate that I'm not good enough for them. I hate that all I can do is bring them down. I hate that I disappoint them. I hate that I disappoint her.

I hate that I can't be good enough for her, especially. I hate that I can't make her happy, I hate that I have annoyed her, I hate that I've made her uncomfortable. I hate that our relationship stressed her out, I hate that I couldn't help her. I hate that I couldn't get her to talk to me about serious things. I hate that she didn't feel comfortable enough with me to do so.

I hate that I'm not good enough.

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I hate myself. Everything about myself.

I wonder how the people I want to call my friends don't hate me too.