I’m going to ask you all to bear with me for the forthcoming bullshit. It’s nothing more, or less, honestly.
I sincerely, truly, unfathomably, hate myself. As I sit here trying to think of words that appropriately describe my self-hatred, my mind is completely blank. The word ‘hate’ doesn’t even seem fitting anymore. I’m beyond that at this point. What I think about myself is documented on my forearms and my stomach, red slashes that I create robotically these days. The sight of my body in pain doesn’t give me satisfaction anymore. Nothing does. What could makeÂ someone loathe themselves so much? Besides my obvious hideous appearance or lack of personality?
I’m a liar.
What I’m lying about I can’t tell you, for I fear I will get up out of this chair, go get the largest knife out of the knife block and plunge it into my chest. I don’t want that now. At least not yet, anyways.
It’s a lie I tell myself every day, and those who are closest to me. I try to gain sympathy through this lie, and I do. But, as all liars know, you can only fake memories for so long.Â
That, on top of the fact that I lack basic social skills as well as a nice appearance, and you get someone with 57 scars on her stomach and forearms. You don’t get anything more than that.Â
I told you it was bullshit. But thanks for listening.