I can’t stand myself. Honestly. I’ll have good days—the days spent with my friends, (whom I love, and I believe love me back,) when I act, the time I spend with my pets or my art or my writing. The good days can stretch on for months. Inevitably, however, after the good days come the bad. The feeling of hatred that always sits right in the center of my chest flares, and I can’t stand it. I hate myself. Today is not a good day. Incidentally, today is my birthday. I’m sitting alone on my family’s couch, newly sixteen, and I feel as though I’m ages older. My heart hurts.