Confused Self-Loathing
Lately, I feel like a complete failure. I don't know why. For the most part I'm actually elated, for I shall be moving to Florida and away from my "family" at the end of the school year. However, not even wolves taking over the world could get rid of my depression right now; I'd just feel ashamed of myself for being human instead of wolf. That is the problem. I am disappointed in every area of my life. I keep thinking back on all of the things I've done in my life to embarrass others or myself, or things that I'm just ashamed of, seemingly without reason. I feel that anything bad that has happened to me has been entirely my own fault, and that, when it all comes down to it, I'm setting myself up for more pain. I'm completely convinced that I've hurt, embarrassed, or made everyone I've ever met hate me. I feel like a monster, built to cause pain or sorrow to others. I think I've done plenty of things I shouldn't have done, didn't comfort those I should have or even failed to speak to those I might have. I'm still utterly sickened with myself whenever I cry, but at the same time I hate that, as time passes, I am unable to understand how others are feeling, and thus make them feel better. Sure, I'm a good listener, but I don't comprehend their emotions. I feel the reasons I do cry are petty and selfish, and the other emotions I feel are pointless as well.
Nothing I do feels good enough to me right now. My writing, drawing, speech, grades, social skills, relationships, anything; you name it, I suck at it. I'm even disappointed in my eating habits, exercising habits, and overall health. At times I barely eat at all; the thought of eating or even smelling cooked food sickens me. At other times I eat everything I get my hands on, and if I can't get a hold of food, I chew on my arm. I can't exercise right now, because the stress causes the pain of my medical problem to flare up more than it already has, but I feel that is an excuse. I hate that I'm sick, tired, or in pain all of the time, and, since I've been told this my whole life, I have to wonder if I'm exaggerating or imagining things. I feel like a complete baby.
I've realized that I don't quite fit in with other people. At times, I'm fine with this. A large part of me really hates being crowded by so many people, and would really prefer to be alone with her thoughts, her imagination, and her world. At other times, the part of me that is an absolute reck surfaces, getting that "unwanted" feeling that I also loathe myself for. Sure, I have plenty of friends, yet another part of me hates them or just finds them bothersome, but this one small part can't let go of the need to be accepted and loved. It is that part that I hate the most and have, over the years, squeezed into the back of my mind until she is little more than a wisp of shadow, but sometimes she still pops up. She is the one full of self-pity and sorrow; she is the one who causes those uncontrollable tears that I hate so much. Oftentimes, that other part of me can't help but rage at her, yelling insults and threats, not only at her, but also at those around me. These I am able to suppress through the sheer will of the first, and largest, part, but that does not stop me from seeing the things the raging piece of my soul envisions, filled with such lust and malice.
I feel like my mind is being split. No one really knows me; no one ever has. I won't let me them. Not even I am sure who I really am anymore. Sometimes I am the mysterious, serious young woman who tends to her studies, writes, draws, or sits emerged in some fantasy world. At others, I am the depressed crybaby that regrets everything and enjoys nothing. Then, I am the murderous beast, who longs to do so many things to those around her, dreaming plans out in detail but never being allowed to carry these plans out. Finally, of course, is the mask I put on around others, when I become instantly happy, bubbly, and hyper. In truth, sometimes I am happy, but rarely as much as others think I am. At times all of these personas combine, making someone new, interesting, and terrifying.
Slowly, my own insults eat away at me. I no longer know myself or have any confidence in the things I do. I hate every part of my soul and continue to gnaw away at it, bit by bit. I'm afraid that, eventually, there may be nothing left of what was once me, whoever I am, but this fragile mortal shell...and sometime after that...it will cease to exist as well.
--Pure Essence Scattered by the Wind,
Malachite
Nothing I do feels good enough to me right now. My writing, drawing, speech, grades, social skills, relationships, anything; you name it, I suck at it. I'm even disappointed in my eating habits, exercising habits, and overall health. At times I barely eat at all; the thought of eating or even smelling cooked food sickens me. At other times I eat everything I get my hands on, and if I can't get a hold of food, I chew on my arm. I can't exercise right now, because the stress causes the pain of my medical problem to flare up more than it already has, but I feel that is an excuse. I hate that I'm sick, tired, or in pain all of the time, and, since I've been told this my whole life, I have to wonder if I'm exaggerating or imagining things. I feel like a complete baby.
I've realized that I don't quite fit in with other people. At times, I'm fine with this. A large part of me really hates being crowded by so many people, and would really prefer to be alone with her thoughts, her imagination, and her world. At other times, the part of me that is an absolute reck surfaces, getting that "unwanted" feeling that I also loathe myself for. Sure, I have plenty of friends, yet another part of me hates them or just finds them bothersome, but this one small part can't let go of the need to be accepted and loved. It is that part that I hate the most and have, over the years, squeezed into the back of my mind until she is little more than a wisp of shadow, but sometimes she still pops up. She is the one full of self-pity and sorrow; she is the one who causes those uncontrollable tears that I hate so much. Oftentimes, that other part of me can't help but rage at her, yelling insults and threats, not only at her, but also at those around me. These I am able to suppress through the sheer will of the first, and largest, part, but that does not stop me from seeing the things the raging piece of my soul envisions, filled with such lust and malice.
I feel like my mind is being split. No one really knows me; no one ever has. I won't let me them. Not even I am sure who I really am anymore. Sometimes I am the mysterious, serious young woman who tends to her studies, writes, draws, or sits emerged in some fantasy world. At others, I am the depressed crybaby that regrets everything and enjoys nothing. Then, I am the murderous beast, who longs to do so many things to those around her, dreaming plans out in detail but never being allowed to carry these plans out. Finally, of course, is the mask I put on around others, when I become instantly happy, bubbly, and hyper. In truth, sometimes I am happy, but rarely as much as others think I am. At times all of these personas combine, making someone new, interesting, and terrifying.
Slowly, my own insults eat away at me. I no longer know myself or have any confidence in the things I do. I hate every part of my soul and continue to gnaw away at it, bit by bit. I'm afraid that, eventually, there may be nothing left of what was once me, whoever I am, but this fragile mortal shell...and sometime after that...it will cease to exist as well.
--Pure Essence Scattered by the Wind,
Malachite
posted by Malachite at 7:43 PM
0 comments
