One day. One random day in some random bar, or maybe in some random club on some random street you just may discover that you hate yourself. You just may discover that you hate more than just your job you don’t want or your clothes that don’t fit. More than just the courses you took in college or the people you dated; those faceless shadows who wasted your time one after the other because somehow they were just never ‘enough’. You may discover that in essence you hate who you are; the decisions you made in the spur of the moment that hurt the only person to ever truly love you, or the lies you told for no reason that left you stranded on some corner because you shunned the ones who cared.

You may find you hate your friends you can’t trust or that guy you just met. That random guy in that random club, who you just gave your number to, knowing that he’ll only call on some other random night at 3am just for that one thing. And you’ll invite him over and give it to him in an effort to not feel alone. But you’ll hate him when he’s done. You’ll even hate him during. You’ll hate him because his touch made you feel like trash. You’ll hate how the memory of his scent sets your skin on fire. You’ll hate his empty words (if he even bothers to say words at all) and you’ll hate his booze plagued breath. You’ll hate his stupid flannel shirt and his too tight navy pants.  

You’ll find you hate your exposed body and your filth-stained soul. You’ll hate that you never asked him to leave. You’ll hate that he did anyway. He left, and you were alone again. You’ll hate that for a second you’ll think you miss him. You’ll hate that even though you don’t, you still sent that text telling him it was ‘fun’ and to come again ‘anytime.’ It wasn’t fun. Forfeiting your pride and abusing your body is never fun; you never want to see him again. You’ll hate that he won’t respond, that He doesn’t want to see you again either. You’ll hate him and the scars he left. The scars you allowed his claws to make, as you guided his hand across the outline you drew yourself. From now on you’ll always hate stupid flannel shirts. And you’ll scoff at all too tight navy pants…. You’ll hate all navy pants so very much.

You’ll discover you hate your ‘shambly’ apartment because it is the metaphor for your life; dirty, defeated, but still holding on if only until it can’t. You’ll discover you hate the cars you don’t have, or that family you’re not a part of. Oh!  You’ll also discover you hate your own family as well, because they must have done something wrong, or not done enough or not done something at all to make you feel like this, to end up like this, living as if you’re half a person living half a life.

You just may discover you hate this sad half-life; you’ll hate its memories that make you cry and its promises that won’t come true. You’ll hate its sunsets and its goodbyes. Especially its goodbyes.  You’ll hate them because you weren’t ready, you weren’t ready at all to say goodbye.  You’ll hate your midnights and your Monday mornings.  You’ll hate them because they feel the same. You’ll hate them  because they never end.  Because they never get brighter, or at least they never feel brighter. Because they can’t.  You’ll hate that you cannot change; that you can’t change the hour, or your words or his mind; especially your words because they were the only thing that were ‘yours’ to begin with.

One day.  One random day in some random bar, or maybe in some random club on some random street you just may discover you hate yourself. And if that day comes I hope you’re not too numb to care.

By: WerepupJeremy