I always despised people who would always be claiming that they have self-hatred. Those who tell me they hate themselves with their very core, and those who'd retch with disgust when they're presented with the idea of trying to love themselves.
Because I feel like they're hypocrites. I feel like they're not being completely honest with me; with themselves and with everyone around them.
Why?
Because how can you hate yourself and hate those who hurt you? Why are you sad over people being disrespectful towards you, people being rude, people stepping on you and people using you? You hate yourself, right? To some extent, you feel like you deserve all these waves of misfortunes coming at you and you feel like you deserve that pain because, well, nobody's shittier than you, isn't it?
Then why the fuck are you complaining, then? Why are you being so bitchy about people looming over you and not appreciating you as you deserve to be appreciated?
You deserve it, right? That's your fucking mantra every single day, and when people agree with it, why does it hurt you? Isn't it good to have others agree that you're shit too?
That's why I feel like it's a completely dishonest idea. It is so bullshit to me ever since I figured that I hated myself, too.
Yeah. You thought all of these are attacks against you? Nah, not really. It's just me, trying to understand why the fuck do I still care when people hurt me, sometimes even to extreme extend.
I hate myself, God, I really do.
But again, all of these recent feelings, all of these doubts hovering over my head...did I ever really hated myself? Because to me, looking back, it seemed like something inside me was protecting me, instead of hating me.
I don't fucking know anymore. I am crumbling apart each and every day, maybe less sounds emitted (because I don't complain about it anymore) but I definitely am. I might not get out of this.
