I hate that when you fell I kept walking.
When you didn't stand, I cried, but I kept breathing.
I kept moving. When you kicked me out, I went.
I hate that I didn't nail each finger to the wall.
I didn't stay. I hate that I let you make me leave.
I hate that you started leaving, too, before I could come back.
I hate that I didn't let the loss destroy me.
I hate that I didn't reap my vengeance by hurting myself again.
I hate that I loved life too much to jeopardize it then.
I hate that I kept loving you, even when you left me alone.
I kept on going, as your daughter, through things technically too tough to survive. I survived.
I wouldn't stop moving.
I hate that my feet kept going, and I learned to bike.
I hate that when I fell, I stood up again.
I could catch myself just as I started to trip.
I hate that I could keep myself safe.
And you struggled, and you suffered, and you slipped, and you fell. You relapsed, and you retired, and you died, and you quit being there when I called you - it was just an empty outline of your voice.
I struggled, and I suffered, and I slipped and I lived.
I hate how many times you've been in hospitals.
I hate how many years of your life this has consumed.
I hate that I got lucky, got help early, that my hard work paid off so soon.
I hate that I wasn't there before to stop them from hurting you, and I'm not there now to stop you from hurting.
I hate looking over my shoulder, and thinking I'll see you.
Crying because it's lonely to walk ahead.
Crying because I think I believe I'm better than you, and I don't want to believe that.
I want to catch up to you, but I can't change direction, and I can't stop moving.
I want to open up to you, but I don't know if you'll understand anymore. I hate this life. This real life.
I hate the thought of telling you that I get depressed at the pool, when you could never go.
I hate the thought of telling you I'm scared of relationships, when you're trying not to die.
I hate being extraordinary. I hate missing you.
I hate loving you, sometimes; I hate being afraid.
I hate I hate I hate knowing that if you die on me
I'll stumble and cry and go on.
That isn't fair.
~me