Hey, I'm Lonely

Stop Judging: Is it really hate?

You might deny it.

You might not even see it.

But I need something from you.

Just one tiny thing.

I need you to stop judging me.

For what I can't control:

Feelings.

You feel them too much.

I feel them too little.

But you don't get to judge me for this.

How. Dare. You.

I didn't ask for this.

I am the product of a family that can not stand being in the same room with each other, behind closed doors.

I am the product of a childhood where who or what you loved most would be what hurt you the most.

I am the product of loving someone.

Then having them curse my very name behind my back.

Or worse.

To my face.

I am the product of being forced to adapt to an environment for over a decade.

You can't  judge me.

Because you've never been forced in that situation.

You have a perfect, little family.

A life full of love and friends.

Even if you'll never admit it.

You have had a life where you have always felt safe to express yourself.

You have never went to bed without a meal.

You have never had a hand you held that hurt you as you held it.

But you have always felt feelings.

And you judge me for my apparent lack of them.

You judge me for not caring.

But I know I do care about you.

Somehow, I just know.

Even though I don't necessarily feel it.

Or express it.

Or flaunt it.

But I do try.

But you won't believe me.

No, you just keep judging me.

It's not my fault.

Stop treating me like it is.

It's. Not. My. Fault.

You don't seem capable of understanding that.

You just seem capable of judgement.

Of leaving me. 

Just like the rest of them.

Just like what made me the way I am today.

Exactly what you hate.

Me.

And I hate you for that.

I know I do.

Somehow, I just know.

Even though I don't necessarily feel it.

Or express it.

Or flaunt it.

I just need to remember what it is.

Is it possible I can't hate you back?

Hate is when you feel a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest, right?

And when you can't sleep, staying up all night just thinking about that one person.

Or when each and every time you catch a glimpse of them, you can't help but stare.

But only when they're not looking.

Oh, who am I kidding?

They'd never look at me. . .

Hate is when you think of them every day.

And can't stop your face from making an expression.

But you know they'd never do the same for you.

Hate is when you think of them hating you and judging you.

And somehow knowing that you're hurting.

But you don't show it.

You hide it until you can't see it anymore.

Right?

Because, if so.

I hate you.

I. Hate. You.

Stop judging me.