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#hate

I may be writing about you for hours on end.

Page after page.

Entry after entry.

That doesn’t mean, I want you back.

That doesn’t mean, I still love you.

That means, there’s something on my chest and it needs to be lifted.

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“How can you even live with yourself?” Rogue demanded, glaring at the man standing before her “You betrayed us and now you think you can just come waltzing back, like nothing ever happened!?”

“Well, they let me come back, so it’s really more of a ‘know’ than a ‘think’, Roguey.” John replied.

Rogue wanted to wipe the annoying smirk off of his face, but restrained herself. She did, however, allow herself the pleasure of butchering him verbally.

“You have a face that makes me wish punching people wasn’t frowned upon in our society.” She snapped “You’re not worth the mud on the bottom of my shoes.”

“And yet you love me.”

She slapped him across the face.

“You’re nothing to me. Less than nothing. Why would I ever love you!?”

“How should I know?” he asked, putting a hand up to his stinging cheek and wincing slightly.

“Something tells me that someone didn’t get enough attention from mommy…” Rogue muttered.

“Well, I don’t exactly have parents at all, so…”

“Is that why you left with Magneto? Poor little Pyro just wanted a dad?” she sneered.

“No. It isn’t.”

“Whatever. I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.”

She turned to leave.

“Rogue, wait.” John said

She turned back around, with an irritated huff.

“What?”

“I’m sorry I left.”

“Care to explain why you deserve my forgiveness?”

“I don’t. I know I screwed up big time, okay? I did some awful things. I can’t close my eyes without seeing them. Hell, I can barely sleep at night because of the amount of guilt I feel… I’m not asking for forgiveness. I just want you to know that I hate myself as much as you do.”

His expression had lost all traces of being anything but serious.

“Good. I’m glad to know that you at least have some semblance of a conscience.” She sighed.

She turned and walked away.

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Hi Anon,

If I can use a gaming term, sometimes we get “stacks”.  We get stacks of negativity and it can affect us for a long time.  And until we make it through the cooldown period, we’re more vulnerable.  

There’s a lot of negative things out there that are legitimately frustrating so it’s completely understandable that you’re feeling this way.  Everything is raw.  

But if you can keep trying to find those things that you like, can enjoy, bring you any amount of happiness, things will start to get better.  If you focus on finding good things, you will start to notice good things more easily.  You can train your brain to see them.  

You are not a hateful person.  You are struggling and that’s okay, because you’re still trying.  Don’t give up.

-Miss Fay

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My mom just asked me where my hate for my dad is coming from…

OH IDK, MAYBE FROM THE ALCOHOLISM, OR THE RACIST SPEWING OUT OF HIM, OR THE FACT THAT HE TRIES BRINGING RELIGION INTO EVERYTHING WHEN HE KNOWS I DON’T BELIEVE IN RELIGION AND TRIES TO MAKE ME FEEL GUILTY. OR THE FACT THAT HE TOLD ME WHEN I WAS A CHILD THAT I WAS USELESS AND NOTHING BUT A PIG AND THAT I WASN’T GOING TO AMOUNT TO ANYTHING…HMM nope no clue where it comes from.

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I live in a house with a roommate who has a small, aging dog.
The dog is very quiet except for some coughing she has due to a congenital heart condition. She doesn’t bark much but occasionally might yelp. I have a hard time figuring out if the dog is yelping in pain or just to communicate with their owner.

Last night, however, I was in my room with the door open. The dog approached the opening of my room and let out what seemed like a growl. This alarmed me and made me self-conscious.

Dogs see everything, and they know how to react to bad things. Sometimes they can sense danger. In my case, I worried that the dog had been able to sense my inner shittiness that I was able to disguise temporarily from people at first. I don’t think the dog sees me as a physical danger, but as a repulsive person by the very nature of my being. I have an ugly inside – I am a person who was born to disappoint and fail.

Luckily my outward appearance isn’t repulsive at first, but once the revolting nature of my personality becomes apparent – my physical appearance becomes ugly by association.

I’m not violent or vicious, I’m just unlikeable. Stupid, presumptious, pretentious, suspicious, awkward with no personality, a sense of humour that no one likes. I see pictures of myself sometimes and I think, “Jesus, look at that annoying worthless person.” I may not have done anything to warrant these types of labels but there’s just something off. I’m not really confident or knowledgeable in anything and lack the composer of other people my age. It’s worse when I try to be because that quickly unravels and I get exposed for the fake that I am.

When I was growing up I used to be able to sense that people didn’t like me, so I didn’t have to get told wasn’t liked. I could just check out once I sensed the disdain in the room. I imagine that saved me a bunch of hardships not being told off or humiliated. When I was younger I had hopes of one day becoming someone valuable since there was still a lot of time to grow. However, now that I’m older, I see that that time has run out gone and my purpose in life should be to represent a symbol of subtle things that people hate about themselves that aren’t really threatening but aren’t welcome.

Anyways, since the dog growled at me, I believe it was a reminder to myself that I am really worthless and shitty. It’s almost worse that I’m not shitty for any real apparent reasons, but for subtle reasons. People need someone to compare themselves to – may they be good or bad. People can align themselves with me and feel confident that they are not me. I used to wish I was someone else growing up so that I could hate the person who was me too. I hated myself, and I tried to let everyone know that I agreed with them.

So, back to the dog, who is about to pass on to another world, but I’m sure wherever they go spiritually, they will ensure that my soul does not follow them in the after life. Dogs don’t look at outward appearances – I’ve been able to loosely masquerade as someone roughly able to fit into society – but eventually my boring, shy, immature self comes out and people get annoyed and start to make assumptions about things I will do based on that and just all around hate me regardless of what I do.

Suicide is not an option, because I’ve tried that. When I tried that and failed, I was admitted to the psych ward because of that the staff treated me like I was a criminal and humiliated me by interrogating me. One of the psychiatrists amused herself by calling me a psychopath after I wrote a letter requesting to be let free after I was dragged there against my will. They then put me in isolation and through my meal on the cement floor next to a soiled mattress they gave me to lay on. My lack of success in ending my life only spurned more hatred for my person because the attempt was viewed as an attention-seeking stunt since I failed. The staff at the psych ward took care of me not because they wanted me to get better, but because it was their duty. They had to. And since I had caused them to have to, they resented me while making me feel guilty for having to have them care for me.

Sometimes I get frustrated and just hope that I’ll get hit by a car or something. But I’ve never been so lucky.

People have roles in this world. They’re heroes, villains, parents, entertainers, entrepreneurs or in my case, their examples of various deplorable characteristics that are not offensive enough to be criminal, but are gentle reminders of why being a weak, stupid, fake and talentless by-stander in life is undesirable. I inspire people because they don’t want to be me.

The dog saw it. It’s been a while since I’ve visited these private thoughts, but the dog was there by some miracle to remind me of who I am in its dying days. I should really see this as a blessing or gift.

“Don’t put your head up or try and spread your wings, you weren’t meant for that.”
I try and remind myself this all the time when I get the urge to experiment or try new things to get ahead.

I get in trouble for isolating a lot, but how on earth am I supposed to not isolate if I’m so disliked. I thought doing this would save everyone the trouble of my company. What is it that people need me to do? Just tell me and I’ll do it. I’m not trying to make my life better – I know I don’t deserve that – I’m trying to help people tolerate me by staying out of their way while living out the rest of my worthless life. I thought I was being polite. I can’t win – and don’t worry I’m not trying to.

Maybe in another life I’ll come back as someone who is of value outside of serving as an example of all the things that people cringe about if they see it in themselves. That would be grand, but I don’t hope for too much. There’s probably nothing at the end. I’m ok with that. Don’t worry I know I don’t deserve eternal rest and all that, but if I just ceased to exist, that’d be sweet for everyone. Unless of course you enjoy hating me. That’s another thing I noticed. People enjoy the act of dissolving my self-confidence or reducing my limited achievements. If that’s the case that just let me know – because that in a way is valuable. You can get your kicks by tearing me down.

Alright, that’s about enough for today.

Bye.

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(A lot of this is in some writings I am doing about the music I grew up with, and where I was at the time. Sounds weird, but I am hoping to make sense of it as I work on it more. Another friend was asking about feelings earlier, and I considered some of mine, and where I’d come and gone to. This came from that. This is just a stream of thoughts.)

I was a weird kid, picked on a lot in school…

My father left when I was a kid, about 7 or 8. I still vividly recall some of the things he said. For years, I thought it was me, or that it was something about him that was bad, so I made no effort to talk to him. Later I learned it was not him at all, and by the time I realized and wanted to reach out, he had passed away, and I was never told until I asked.

I have been told I am a lot like him.

Music has always been my getaway. I spent most of my teenage years walking around Los Angeles with a headset filled with music I would copy, borrow, or steal from people…

I recall my grandmother dying, just a few days after her Christmas party, she fed me, hugged me, held me close, and we laughed. I refused to go to her funeral because that party was my best memory, I was afraid to ruin it.

I wanted to be a rock star, or at least a guitar player…

One night at a club we all went to, I found myself with a bouncer in the parking lot, pulling one of my best friends out of the back of a pickup truck as she was being violently raped by several people. Some other girls and I took her home wrapped in my coat. I loved her, I miss her, I have never heard from her since, and I still think of her, every fucking day…

Minneapolis and Chicago are my favorite cities. I’d love to see more cities around the world. But New Orleans is first on my list. I have no desire to ever go back to Los Angeles…

I had this really great cat once that ran out the door and never came back. I felt like I had done something wrong to ruin that relationship.

I have always been ridiculed for everything I wanted to be…

My grandfather became hard of hearing. As he got older he asked for cassette tapes of my music, because it was loud and he could feel it. So I gave him mix tapes tapes filled with mostly metal, punk, and industrial music.

I sucked at being a dad, my daughter lives away from me. For a long time, I would feel guilty if I did anything for myself. I literally sat at home and did nothing but wait for the next time she would visit…

I really love punk, electronic, goth, and industrial music…

Once in Chicago, I had to report a dead body found in a park, they were stabbed, they found the killer hiding in bushes a few feet away from where friends and I made the call… I helped pull a man from a car crash and sat at the curb holding on to him waiting for emergency service. I still recall what it was like to feel his soul leave his body as he died in my arms…  

I make weird choices in my life, I am unhappy and unfulfilled, I need more of something, but are unsure what that is…

A few years ago, I moved to the east coast, it was a disaster from day one. But I tried to get along with it, and my dreams to live somewhere bigger, and work on my art and music. The guy I lived with threatened me a few times, and one night he had a huge knife he was threatening me with. I ran the fuck out of there the first chance I could get, and I went back to Kansas City, wearing only my work uniform. I lost everything I owned…

I really want to lose weight and feel better…

I have loved and lost, two times. I mean, I fall in love with every girl I meet, it’s a flaw, or a gift… but there is this one girl, she is always on my mind. She’s the most beautiful person, ever. I don’t think she has any clue…

The day he was captured, Richard Ramirez ran through the apartment complex we were living in…

As a security guard, we were hanging out in our guard post one night and a totally naked and beaten woman wandered up to us. There was no homes or anything within miles for her to have come from, other than the highway. I was very upset and shaken by this, because of past dealings…

Hrmmm, all my clothes are ripped, I need to get some pairs of pants..!

I have had my fill of accidents and pain… I have had many friends pass away. I have had heart a attack, many strokes, I suffer from asthma, something called sarcoidosis, severe arthritis, I have occasional tremors, constant pain, depression, anxiety, And I was in a vehicle accident myself, where both legs were broken in 13 places, and I was unable to walk for almost 2 years…

A girl left me once because the drugs were more important.

I am virtually homeless, I am going through a difficult time and figuring it out. I live with a good friend and his sons, and they have given me a sense of family, the greatest thing I have ever had to learn, but hardest to realize I knew nothing about. I feel blessed and embarrassed about that, but I try to keep going forward.

I’ve worked in security, and was a guard during the riots in Los Angeles, 1992. I knew a few of the kids who were angry at that time and it was hard to come to grips with how I felt about it then. But I saw how shitty cops treated people, first hand… before, during, and after the riots. I saw how they treated me and my punk friends, in LA and Chicago, just because we looked different. But I know that is nothing like what black lives have to go through, right now…

…and I’m super emotional about how my friends and other humans are being treated…

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Entah sudah berapa lama kaya begini. Hampir setiap hari tidur pagi dan bangun juga dibawah jam 9 Mata,telinga ke layar handphone tapi otak/pikiran ntah dimana hati/perasaan juga berasa nggak ngerti deh gimana.

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