The Crushing Truth of Hating Myself to the Core

Every morning, I wake up, and it's the same internal mantra, I hate you. You're terrible. Look at you. Not even worth breathing. Everything about you is scum. You're scum. Nothing would change if you weren't here. The world wouldn't miss you one bit. And that's not me thinking about someone else. That's me thinking about myself. Every morning, every day, and every night, this is what rolls through my mind on repeat. My only relief is when I'm either working or trying to distract myself with an on-going story inside of my head. I used my characters often as an escape from these words. Still, somehow, they come back. They always come back. And I always, always believe them.

Over the past few months, things have become progressively worse. My self-loathing has devolved to a point where I suffer in constant despair. I often find myself romanticizing how my friends wouldn't even notice me missing if I simply stopped talking to them, or if I simply vanished from social media. About how they despise me and how I'm an absolutely horrid person. How I'm just the worst to be around, and how much they hate me for everything I am--and everything I'm not.

It's a pretty crushing feeling to think to yourself repeatedly, Your friends don't even like you. No one likes you. You're a burden. And to know, somewhere deep inside, you believe every single word. Every one. There's a point where it goes beyond me just believing those words, too. There was a point where those words become so ingrained that they're just about burned into my bones. That's how much I believe that little voice. I feel it, deep inside of me, that I'm worthless.

I hit that point about eight years ago. Now, the burns are more like giant gouges, dug so deep that my marrow leaks out from the wounds. No matter how much I try to plaster those gouges shut, they simply crack open again, breaking wider and longer than before.

The more I think about what's going on inside of my head, this tremendous self-loathing, this hatred for everything I am, everything I've done in my life, that I can't help wondering, Am I alone? I doubt it. Self-hatred isn't uncommon. It should be, but it isn't. I bet I throw a virtual stone and at least ten of my Facebook friends have the same self-hatred and deep-down despair that cripples you to the core. That's why I'm writing this. Because, you, my friends, aren't alone, and yes, someone would miss you. I would miss you; I would miss you terribly and deeply and without any way to describe in words the sorrow I'd feel at your loss.

Don't let the self-loathing win. Don't listen to that voice inside of your head, no matter how convincing it is. Please--just remind yourself that you would be passionately missed. That's what keeps me going. I have to remind myself how selfish of me it is to hate myself so much when so many people have put such enormous love into my life. When so many people have shown me their devotion and love for me... and it helps to know that I am loved. Even when the whispers are darkest and the most tempting, I try so hard to remind myself of that outpouring of love.

Because if I don't remember it, if the whispers start telling me that all of that love isn't real and, worse, if I start to believe them... I'm not sure what will happen.

For now, I'm fighting. Please, fight with me.