I don't hate life. I think it can be beautiful; I see beauty in the lives of others, in fun, carefree moments with loved ones, with stupid inside jokes and a well-crafted iced coffee and breezy, temperate days and standing ankle-deep in the ocean tide, and making out and making love and getting caught up in a really good book. I think there's such beauty in human optimism, and the potential to build something meaningful and find joy in life, despite the frequent pain. I wish I could find a close friend, fall in deep passionate love with them, become mutually supportive partners, build a love beyond the rose-tinted honeymoon, get married, have kids, raise them in a warm environment filled with fun and joy and adventure and opportunity and so much love.
I don't even hate my life--I've been blessed in so many ways, my situation is objectively pretty great. I'm the only problem here. My brain is broken, I don't even know exactly how, but I just can't function. I'm a robot masking as human completing to-dos off a checklist without, incapable of meaningful in-person connection on my best days. The other half of the time, I can't get out of bed, unless it's to stress eat or some other shitty coping mechanism. I am incapable of love. I've tried for so long to snap out of this malaise, but I just can't. I'm starting to think there's nothing to "snap out" of, and that this is just me.
I don't hate life, I just wish I could actually participate in it.