Fear

 My father was a violent drunk.

I remember waiting for him to come home. If he was late you knew he went to the bar. As the minutes late increased, the higher anxiety would get.

He never disappointed when he was late. One time I stood up to him. We were arguing on opposite sides of the kitchen table when he threw the table aside to come after me.

I didn't handle the situation well, actually.  I turned to alcohol myself (and pot) and let myself be taken away in a dream world of my own making.

Self hatred came out of that experience.  So much wasted potential, even now.

Yes, I hate myself.