Young Writers Society

August 3, 2011 9:02 pm

I am thirteen years old, 143 pounds, sixty-five-point-seven-five inches tall, and I absolutely hate my mother.
I think I have for a while now, and I don’t know the official date, but it started sometime a few months ago. I hate her, and I don’t even know what to call her when I write something about her, because I don’t even want to call her my ‘mother’. I started writing her as ‘Mother’ a few weeks ago, but even that seems too endearing now.
I hate it when she talks; every word that comes out of her mouth, I hate. She complains about everything, and I hate it. I hate it when she talks, and occasionally, I hate it when she doesn’t.
I think I hate a lot of things these days. I don’t like watching the news anymore. Not because I feel sympathetic about what I hear. I hate reporters and how they deliver their so called “news”. I hate how people are expected to care about a stupid dog that did something “heroic”. I hate how I’m expected to care. I hate how it’s polite to care, I hate how there’s nobody there who actually expects me to care, and I hate that I do care sometimes.
I hate boys and how I supposed to grow up and marry one someday, and I hate the thought that no matter what my dreams are, the reality is that I’m going to be a married mother of kids someday (I hate kids and how they’re so naïve and how they just believe). I hate that I’m not as special as I want to be; I hate that I’m not that special at all. I hate that I have such big dreams, because that just means I’ll have bigger disappointments. I hate how I sound like I don’t actually hate these things as much as I do, and I hate how no one realizes how much I hate.
I hate how I never say these things that I really want to, just because I’m frightened that it’ll come out melodramatic and everyone will believe it’s just me being a teenager. I hate that the more I write this, the less I hate the things I’m writing about, and I hate how emotional this sounds, because it makes me seem emotional, and I hate being emotional.
I don’t like how –by now –I don’t really hate my mother anymore, and I don’t like how I’m not angry anymore.
I don’t like how sometimes I just hate everything and how sometimes I don’t care at all about it, because when I hate everything, it makes me feel important, and when I don’t care, I feel like I have nothing at all.
I love how I hate the world, and I hate that I really don’t.

This caught my attention, not because of the lack of reviews but because of the strong emotional outpouring you wrote that consisted of hating a great many things. I cannot sympathize with being a 13-year old girl and I hope that much of this is fiction although I read the spoiler you placed at the top. What I can sympathize with is hating my own Mother until I was a year older than you are. I compliment you on channelling your emotions in writing as the more you write the more skills you develop. Another compliment I have to give you is for the glimmer of optimism you demonstrate in the title, "I Hate How I Don't" and this is echoed greatly in your conclusion.

Sometimes sources of inspiration reveal themselves in different ways. Obviously you have an interest in writing and I would encourage you to continue writing even if what you write may seem unorthodox at times. I hope to see your writing portfolio grow with time as I know you will both as a writer and as a person. This review may have been unorthodox in content but I hope you take my remarks as positive ones.

Sincerely,
Elitehusky

So, my name is Em and I can sympathize with you. Once upon a time (ugh, I feel so old!) I was an angry, PMSing 13 year-old girl who hated her mother some and her father A LOT. Seriously, I was that girl in the huge black jacket and the rings and rings of black eyeliner who owned all the My Chemical Romance albums and listened to her music as loudly as the speakers would play it (which I don't recommend, btw, as my ears are now suffering the consequences).
In any case, I really liked this. Like EliteHusky said, it was pretty unorthodox but still. You were honest. and I liked that a lot. I'm tired of all the happy love stories and the overly-dramatic death stories. This was nicely in the middle and it was real. It reminded me a lot of the days not so long ago when I looked upon the world with contempt and wished broken legs upon many of my peers. (I was rather hateful.)
From a more literary standpoint, I liked the parallel syntax. I especially liked how the repeated use of hate was like a rythm, a sort of stabbing, angry rythm. It was rather poetic.
Most of all though, I like how your story embodies what a lot of people feel. A lot of people are fed up with the foolishness of what pop culture and the media say we should like and dislike. A lot of people resent what future is being pushed upon them. They resent the pressure and presuming nature of expectations. They resent the feeling that they are no longer in control of their lives. And I like how you embodied that.
I like how you made it...real.
so good job.
toodles,
em