I don’t use this word often.

But I feel it often.

I hate.

I hate the way I feel—

like my whole body wants to scream.

And then I do scream.

And it makes everyone uncomfortable.

But I feel uncomfortable inside.

So I yell.

And then I want to cry

because I’m disappointed—

not in them,

but in myself.

That I yelled at someone I love.

Not because of them.

But because I feel… unsafe.

This feeling—

of disgust, of fear—

moves through my veins

like something poisonous.

My own arms tremble

as someone I care about comes near,

speaks to me gently.

And I flinch. I yell.

And I want to cry.

Because I don’t understand.

Why does this happen?

Why does my body behave this way?

I hate this feeling so much.

What’s wrong with me?

This fear—

of being close to anyone,

even for a split second—

takes over.

And I feel lost.

How does one overcome such fear

when you don’t even know where it came from?

It’s like locking yourself in a cage,

then losing the key

you swore to protect.

It’s a double-edged sword

running through your veins—

a mix of wanting to be loved and heard,

and wanting to hide away from the world.

It’s not a pleasant word.

That word: hate.

But it fits.

It fits perfectly

with how I feel

about my own emotions.