I hate. I hate, I hate, I hate, I hate.

I hate that I hate so much.

My mom made me go to a therapist for a while, but then she got sick and died and left me all alone with this monster of a man that threatens me all the time and pukes on my dreams and I hate. I hate that she died, I hate that she left me here, I hate that I'm not dead, I hate that my dad is himself.

I hate the canker sore that is pulsing at the edge on my mouth and I hate the nosebleed I have just gotten from my father and his drunken madness.

He doesn't go to extremes, it's not like in those things they show at school with the constant, routine beatings or words. It's like once every two months he binges and punches and makes me feel like shit.

But he still hits me, and I still put up with it, and Beck broke up with me, and no one likes me, no one loves me, my mom died, and I'm not dead yet, and I hate that.

I hate the scars that I placed on myself. I hate that people die. I hate pretty things.

I hate, I hate, I hate, I hate.

Hate. It's such an ugly word, even shaped weird, like how the word bed is shaped like a bed or whatever. The shape of the overall syllable is like an up-down-medium-low. It sounds like a beat that Andre would make up or something.

I hate the word hate.

I hate Tori Vega, and how she prances around everything like she owns it. Or, maybe I don't hate her, I admire her, and therefore, my instincts tell her to hate her.

I don't know.

If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm drunk. My dad doesn't care. He leaves vodka out in the open, and gave me a fake ID for my 16th birthday. A quality one, too.

I hate that my dad doesn't give me rules.

I hate that he doesn't give me guidelines, just thrusts me into the world saying 'Here's some alcohol, go occupy yourself for a few hours, Advil's on the counter.'

I hate Beck, too.

He knew about my self-esteem issues. He knew about the cutting. He knew about my dad. He knew about the eating disorder when I was 14.

And he decides to dump me.

Dump. Me.

I hate that.

I glance at the bottle and take another swig. Can't hurt.

Anyway, I hate that I can't take back what I've said. I hate that I can't just-poof!- take back anything I'd said to anyone that made my karma suck so badly and everyone hate me.

I hate that I can't.

I hate that I'm a failure in life. I hate that I write every single play HA does and never get any recognition. I hate that I tutor freshman in my art form and Beck thinks I'm with another guy.

I've decided I hate Tori for a different reason, too. Her body. Damn. And her face and her cheekbones and just being herself and never being insecure and loving herself and loving everything else and never hating anything or anyone. I hate that she can do that.

I hate that she can make me want to kiss her one second and bitch slap her next. I hate that she's totally, one hundred percent straight and will never love me. I hate that I've been to chicken to just do it and kiss her just once or say 'I love you' or ask her out or something. Anything.

I hate how Lane thinks talking through my low self-esteem will help with my home life.

Truth is, I was a scholarship kid. I'm only here because my mom signed me up for a payment program and they decided I was good enough to come here. My dad quit his job a month ago, something about new PearPhone app and making it big. Haven't seen him since.

I hate that.