Why I Hate Myself

I'm a mess. I'm at constant battle with myself. I've lost all since of direction and stumbled upon the numerous reasons why I hate myself . . . and the few reasons why I love myself . . .


1. Dear Who ever,

     One reason why I hate myself is because the first thing I felt like I needed to say was sorry. I wanted to say sorry for the creation of this story in the first place. As a pathetic writer that's nothing to be sorry about. I don't know when I started attacking myself with these harsh words, but it wasn't like I just woke up like this either. I know this could be a phase, but even so I thought writing might help. Writing has always helped me as a child. I'd write out my feelings instead of speak them, that way no one could yell at me, laugh at me, or just call me a freak. People and I never got along. Recently I don't feel safe even writing on paper anymore. I'm terrified to so much as open up any more, and honestly I don't know why. I like to think that there's something wrong with me. That, hopefully, I have some psychological issues so that I might have something wrong with me rather than me doing something wrong with myself. If that makes any sense. I can't help but feel like maybe its just me betraying myself rather than my mind betraying me. God I hope I'm making sense.

     My mom has anxiety. She has to take medication so she doesn't freak out when she drives. When I was little I use to panic and obsesses and over think things that terrify me, because of this my parents believe I have anxiety too. Though, unlike my mom, I don't take pills, I don't go to a therapist, and I'm not even sure if I even have it. I never took a test or whatever you have to take to figure out whether or not you belong in a asylum, and it scares me to think what could or couldn't be wrong. As I worried about it more and more I began to give up and accept the worse like I've done with most things that I obsess over. After that happens I just begin to close in on myself. The days past without much notice, and I don't react to people no matter what they do.

    For example my close friend, we'll call him David, tried very hard to convince me that I was the most useless piece of shit writer out there. I didn't even react despite writing originally being the only thing I thought I was good at. I just agreed and continued with my disgusting school lunch. Recently I regained the courage to write, which was immediately crushed once again by myself. My ex boyfriend believed I had boarder line DID (Dissuasive Identity Disorder) because I use to think of the voices in my head as separate. Really though it's just me thinking to myself.

    One of them is just mean I don't think of a name for her, but if I had to call her something separate from the others it'd be Makayla. Makayla is my name, but the way she acts just matches it. She's a bitch. She agrees with anyone who insults me and basically makes the lies I tell myself the truths I don't want to hear.

    The other one I refer to as Kay after an old nickname. She is sweet. She tries to make me feel better and keep me calm, but she's so quiet compared to Makayla.

    The third one is no name. They are loud, they panic, and they ignore any form of logical thinking. They are the voice that drives my anxiety.

    And than there's me. I'm nothing, but a spectator and a victim in my own mind. On rare occasions I'll stand up and tell Makayla to shut up and let Kay speak. Sometimes it's quiet and I think without them. I don't think I have DID I think these are just the angles and demons on my shoulders and nothing more. Still, I'm not sure how people would react if they knew . . .

    Which is why I'm writing this. Maybe one of you can help me, maybe you'll show me what people would say if I were to admit it to peers, and maybe this will help.




God, I hope this helps.




     Your Friend,              


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