I hate being poorly.
I hate not being there for the people I love.
I hate not being the one people feel they can turn to for support any more (even though they really can still).
I hate missing weddings and birthdays and celebrations.
I hate not hearing the news first hand, both good and bad.
I hate not being there for people to lean on.
I hate not hearing the good, bad, amazing and ugly bits of loved ones’ lives and being there with them through it all.
I hate the bubble of illness.
I hate being so pathetic.
I hate this ‘life’.
I hate me.