I hate being bitter. I hate being angry... furious, rather, for a reason that I just can't seem to put my finger on. I hate taking it out on someone who deserves it, but not as much as fifteen other people I'd rather yell at. I hate being furious at someone that I can't even look at, who can't even see the tears in my eyes, who'd actually probably care whether I cried or not.
I hate the words that are spelling themselves out, flying from my mind to the fingers to the screen while I loathe every syllable and know I won't mean it tomorrow. I hate being miserable and feeling as if I'm losing one of my best friends, but I won't stand by. I won't be put on standby... be the last resort.
I hate anger and confusion and resentment and being afraid and knowing that no matter what I say this won't ever be fixed because I'm realizing things that I shouldn't realize and thinking things I've never thought.
I hate being free. I hate not having a place to plant my emotions. I hate that they're just running around without permission and sitting on people's shoulders, waving frantically and trying to get my attention.
I hate that I can never just turn my back on them.