I hate that I forget that life can be better than this.
I hate that I believe I’m not worth more than this.
I hate that I cannot complete levels on Candy Crush, thus thrashing the children I look after by my clear superiority for iPhone gaming, because the chocolate overpowers everything and that is too triggering an image right now.
I hate that I am cross with T because she will not magically become my mother.
I hate that I hate that I am cross with T… the only person in the world who believes any of my emotions are ok.
I hate that I wasted precious minutes of my life today lining my packet of maltesers up in size order, smallest to largest, and then only eating the 5 smallest ones, in a bid to stop getting fat.
I hate that I only ate maltesers today because any other food is too risky.
I hate that I burst into entirely spontaneous tears on the lady who runs my knitting group today, because she said, ‘wow baby, you look exhausted. What’s going on?’
I hate that I’m too ashamed to tell her.
I hate that a man in Morrisons today gasped when he saw my arm. Actually gasped. Man up!
I hate that I forgot to cover it.
I hate that I have to remember to cover it.
I hate that I opened a phone call with the Samaritans today with ‘I feel like I’m going to kill myself and I don’t want to’
I hate that I feel like giving up.
I hate that I’ve lost the fire in my belly.
I hate that I’m living for therapy tomorrow (17hours and 43mins..)
I hate that I am so full of anger and rape and destruction and sadness.
I hate that I feel like they’re all I am.
I hate that I can’t vomit it out alongside the laxatives and the water.
I hate that they made me hate.