Hate.

I hate feeling this way.

I hate that I have someone else to blame, along with myself. Sounds messed up, doesn't it? If I was the only one to reconcile all the guilt, pain, anger, and damage that have caused me to be me with, I would have no choice but to get over it, right? Well, I guess either that or it would slowly kill me. Which is what it feels like is happening now.

I hate that I get so angry with my daughter because I see so much of "little me" in her. I just want to protect her. I just want to protect me.

I hate that my husband has to say to her, "Your mom loves you, she wants to love you. She has a lot of anger inside of her because of things that happened to her when she was younger. Things that have nothing to do with you. She just doesn't want you to end up like her. How often do you see your mom outside of her room? Not very much, huh? Thats because everytime she leaves, she gets angry. Being shut in inside her room is the only place she feels safe."
All of what he tells her is true, but I hate that truth. I hate that my little girl knows that she doesn't have a "normal" mom, that she has a sick one.

I hate that stability is seemingly short-term in my life.

I hate that disappointment and anger come so easily, and that happiness and smiles are so rare.

I hate that I've become so dead inside that even compliments feel like personal attacks. It's like the part of my brain that is connected to my heart, that sends the messages throughout my body that things are okay, or good has become completely disconnected.

I hate that I have more sympathy and compassion for strangers, than I do my own family.

I hate that regret occupies as much of my time as joy used to.