Self-loathing is a very interesting tragedy, especially watching it grow up from self-loathing to self destruction. I don’t like any edition of myself anymore, but now I’m just creating new variations and injecting things in them to further hate. And I think at this point I’d just prefer to not have anyone out there who cares for me at all, only because I am just too much of a problem, and I’d rather not add problems into people’s lives.
I like being radiant. I look at the last few years and realize my world has been collapsing, to the point where there are very little left surviving in my sphere, and I wonder to myself: How did I become this? And where did the normal, good person to be around go to? How did I let it come to this? I miss my actual self, yet I don’t know if he can be resurrected anymore.
Finally, when I was in high school, a girl I really really liked told me something to the effect that she doesn’t like it when guys have muscles (in the sense, that is how my stupid, helpless, emo, “I think I’m in love with this girl” brain interpreted whatever she actually said). And really, ever since, I’ve been almost self-conscious about my body in the weirdest way. But you know what? I look freaking fantastic with no shirt/clothes on, and I’m not going to let something that I should feel good about become another weapon of my own self-destruction. So take that, self-loathing and destruction. You might be winning big, but at least I got a run on the board.