Letter N3 Hatred toward myself and you

My love… What I hate most about myself:

• I hate that the moment stability slips away I fall apart — lose my bearings and explode with emotions I can’t control.
• I hate that when life feels unstable I start sniffing for traps in everything, as if peace itself is a trick.
• I hate that I can’t be myself when I’m terrified of hurting someone — I mute pieces of me to avoid causing pain.
• I hate that when my feelings flood in, I can’t really hear the other person; my emotions drown out their words.
• I hate that I keep giving people the thing I’m starving for, and then bleed when it’s not returned.
• I hate that sometimes those who finally give me what I need are precisely the ones who aren’t my priority.
• I hate loneliness — it gnaws at me; I need background noise from morning till night or I feel my mind unravelling.
• I hate crowds — among people I feel exposed and utterly alone, like a small boat in a vast, cold sea.
• I hate the apathy that steals my will to live and to grow.
• I hate my hypersensitivity: left alone, my head won’t stop aching, my eyes are always ready to spill, and my body tightens as if bracing for more pain.
• I hate that I can’t just let go and relax; calm seems forbidden to me.
• I hate that I am a one-lover — that to unlove someone will take me forever.
• I hate having to lie. I hate making mistakes.
• I hate that I forgive and forgive again, even when my heart wants to keep score.
• I hate that I forget the bad so fast and begin to ache for the good, not understanding why we ever fell apart.
• I hate that I have to go through crises alone, without a shoulder to lean on.
• I hate that only illness seems to drag me to the doctor, because I lack the will to care for myself otherwise.
• I hate being sick all on my own.
• I hate, with a heavy, exhausted heart, that I always end up alone because of my fears. 
• I hate how my heart pulls back the moment someone reaches out — like kindness hides a blade.
• I hate that fear pushes me away, whispering I’ll be left wrecked if I let anyone in.
• I hate my shaking anxiety — it never leaves me.
• I hate my avoidant ways that keep me chained even when I want freedom.
• I hate that I only want someone when my feelings burn like fire.
• I hate myself for giving hope to the wrong people.
• I hate breaking promises I can’t keep.
• I hate how much I need to feel wanted — without it, I can’t calm down.
• I hate my low self-worth staring back at me.
• I hate people.
• I hate that I’m part of this messed-up world and carry its brokenness.
• I hate watching chances slip away while I chase flashes of feeling.
• I hate making saints out of imperfect people.
• I hate that I bow to voices telling me who I must be and how I must treat them, while they don’t move an inch to meet me in return.
• I hate shutting myself off when deep down all I want is for someone to reach out a hand.
• I hate wearing masks, pretending I’m fine when I’m not.
• I hate myself so much…