I hate the lie that says that we are not alone in our pain.
I hate the person I am when I meet someone new and how easily I forget what is the way to reach out again.
I hate the unceasing tremors.
I hate being unable to look inside people’s eyes in the subway and simultaneously getting tense.
I hate the million gestures I make when I’m stressful.
I hate the remaining hopes and the ever-lasting disappointments.
I hate the swift shift in mood.
I hate the cumulated heavy disillusions.
I hate the zombie walk.
I hate the unwillingness.
I hate the well-put sentences that try to convince me that I am doing just fine.
I hate that the only thing which can cheer me up at times are organizations’ social media filled with cheesy bright quotes.
I hate that I can’t make it up to the rare people who are the kindest with me.
I hate that there is no one to voice the unspoken words.
I hate that there is no one to understand the deafening silence.
I hate that there is no one to look at the uneasiness.
I hate the bulky shame.
I hate the tears which won’t come out at the right time.
I hate the lie that says there’s still time for change.
It’s been so long already.
I hate the pretending.
I hate the lies.
This sounds utterly pessimistic and negative — I needed to vent.