I hate everything...

I hate that I am scrapbooking my son.
I hate that I have so few memories of Logan.
I hate that I only took pictures of my belly once.
I hate that I refer to everything in life as “before Logan” or “after Logan”.
I hate that I seem to be an after thought.
I hate that I feel so unloved by my father.
I hate that my sister is just like my dad.
I hate that people think I want to be left alone.
I hate that I don’t even know my best friend anymore.
I hate that people are so oblivious to their own actions.
I hate that I hurt this bad.
I hate that people make me cry.
I hate feeling vulnerable.
I hate crying.
I hate feeling so overwhelmed.
I hate that my son is dead.
I hate that I have to say that my son is dead.
I hate that people feel uncomfortable about my baby.
I hate that I feel like I wear a sign that says “My baby died!”
I hate drama.
I hate chaos.
I hate that my dog sheds so much.
I hate that my house is a pig pen.
I hate that I feel like a failure as a wife.
I hate that I feel like a failure as a woman.
I hate that “he” just doesn’t get it.
I hate having to explain myself.
I hate liars.
I hate that my basement leaks water.
I hate that I get so stressed out that I get headaches.
I hate that Logan had Down Syndrome.
I hate that I feel so useless.
I hate that I feel so helpless.
I hate that I am so scared.
I hate wondering if God is real.
I hate wondering if Heaven is real.
I hate wondering if I’ll get in.
I hate that I want to go to Heaven just to see my son, and so that I don’t burn in Hell.
I hate that I question God’s existence.
I hate that I let people take advantage of me.
I hate that people actually do that.
I hate feeling like I have to defend myself.
I hate that I defend and rationalize everyone else.
I hate that I feel so alone.
I hate that I don’t have any real friends.
I hate that I try so hard.
I hate that I’m lazy.
I hate to clean.
I hate to cook.
I hate that I am so full of anger.
I hate that I am so full of hatred.
I hate that I can’t express myself when I talk.
I hate that I am a coward.
I hate dealing.
I hate confrontation.
I hate that I only have one child, when I know I should have two.
I hate that I have so many bad memories.
I hate that I don’t understand.
I hate that this happened to me.
I hate that babies die.
I hate that I my baby died.
I hate the unfairness.
I hate feeling like I deserved my son more than others deserve their kids.
I hate that I don’t know what to do with all of these emotions.
I hate that I don’t feel like I matter.
I hate that the people around me don’t realize how bad they hurt me.
I hate that I allow myself to feel hurt.
I hate feeling like I can’t cope any more.