Yes, I hate it. I have since I was about nine, and my torso hit it's adult size three years before my height caught up.
I always thought I was fat, even back in high school when I was right in the middle of the ideal weight range for my height and build. But I'm built like a tea pot, short and stout. I have broad shoulders for a woman and hips to match. My legs resemble stunted tree trunks, kind of stubby and really thick even back when I was at my smallest. My hands are frickin huge for a woman, and I have the stupidest square jaw. My skin decided it hated me when I hit ten and has only ever been clear since while I was pregnant.
Then I had two children and two miscarriages in just over two years. I spent months on bed rest to make it to term, or close with the second in any case, and ended up packing on seventy-five extra pounds. After four years of dieting and exercise, I've only managed to loose twenty. The doctors can't tell me why I'm stuck where I am.
Beyond that, I apparently have very bad genetics. I have migraines something chronic, massive allergies, and an inherited inner ear issue that will probably render me deaf by the time I hit forty. All my calogen is utter crap, so my joints are weak and all my weight loss did was make the skin start to sag because it has the elasticity of a woman twice my age. I've no arches to speak of, so once the weather cools, my plantar tendons have me hobbling about like an old woman for the first hour or so of the day. Oh, and apparently my hair can't even make up it's mind if it wants to be curly, wavy, or straight, so it just ends up a gigantic frizzy mess no matter what I do.
So yeah. I hate my body. It has absolutely no redeeming qualities.