I can’t explain how much self-hate I experience towards myself on a daily basis, without wanting to punch you, kill you, expose myself to you – anything to prove what a piece of worthless wank I am, so as to justify my non-existence.
It’s been a driver in my mental make-up for most my adult life, but it has become gradually worse since I hit my late 30s, early 40s.
It’s an hard world, we all know that. But self-hate doesn’t make you want to stand up to injustice, it merely makes you think that you deserve no sympathy for whatever you are experiencing: after all, people in other countries are being slaughtered en mass – why does somebody with a safe roof over their head deserve the privilege of life?
Self-hate, on a minor, micro-level, has ensured that I spend most of my time by myself. Initially time spent trying to ‘better myself’ in order not to be self-hating, so I could become part of something, has become a life of literal loneliness. And only people who like themselves can truly embrace loneliness.
Maybe there’s a case of arrested development. I have never felt intimacy, love, or an embrace of an other to the point that I have learned can change that person, and take them out of their own head. But, again, that’s just another reason to blame, shame, and despise one’s ‘wrongness’ in knowing how to live.
I know there’s people who read this who know me who tell me I disclose too much information about myself. “You shouldn’t be so honest they say”. Crawl back into your nicey nice profile projection.
All I say back is I won’t stop – I don’t owe you anything. This may be a big joke, that you are all secretly laughing at and criticising me for. But that’s how I feel anyway, so what’s the difference?
John B Ledger 