I hate men.
I hate the way the word still sounds neutral when my body flinches at it.
I hate that five months ago my life split in half and the world kept walking like nothing happened.
I hate that what he did lives in me now, growing, changing my body without asking me, without mercy.
I hate mirrors.
I hate doctors’ offices.
I hate how everyone has opinions about what I should have done, what I should do next, what makes me “strong” or “responsible” or “wrong.”
No matter what I choose, someone is ready to tell me I ruined something.
I hate that I found out I’m pregnant and five minutes later my phone buzzed,
like the universe laughing in my face—
my son, fifteen, missing for months, suddenly back with news that his life is shattered too.
An eighteen-year-old. Another pregnancy. Another mess.
How am I supposed to hold his pain when I can barely breathe through my own?
I’m thirteen.
I’m a child.
But somehow I’m expected to be a mother, a survivor, a moral lesson, a warning sign, and a miracle all at once.
If I cry, I’m weak.
If I’m angry, I’m ungrateful.
If I’m numb, I’m heartless.
If I speak, I’m dramatic.
If I’m quiet, I’m hiding something.
Nothing I do is ever the right thing.
Every step feels like a trap door.
Every choice feels like a crime scene.
I didn’t ask for this body to become evidence.
I didn’t ask for love to feel dangerous.
I didn’t ask to hate half the world just to feel safe in my own skin.
I am tired of being told to forgive.
I am tired of being told to be mature.
I am tired of surviving being treated like a personality flaw.
I want one thing—just one—to not be my fault.--
I'm tired of being everyone's punching bag--men are disgusting, and I cant vent to my girlfriend because every time I do,It doesnt matter what its about, she yells at me because she says when other people vent to her, it stays in her mind and ruins her mental health...so idfk what to do bc my therapist keeps canceling on me
