Hideous, Miserable Beast

I’ve been so despondent lately, yet simultaneously filled to the brim with frothing, boiling hate. I hate so bitterly, so inexpressibly deep. I am repulsed by life, by the complacent, perverse disregard of logic in every day procedure. I hate my roommate, though it was me that so barbarically and mercilessly bullied her… I am so awful, and I recognize it. Yet I am so apathetic. I am such a hideous person of spirit, mind and body. I am cognizant… I hate myself too. Yet I love myself more than anything. I am just so angry. I’m angry that life disagrees with me, that it elicits a violent, adverse reaction like the body rejecting a donated organ or incompatible blood. They say that with repeated exposure desensitization invariably takes place, and yet I’ve experienced no relief. My job is reliant on conversing with others and yet it never becomes easier. I hate them still and interacting with them is painfully arduous and dull. I’m lonely, yet erecting relationships is a humiliating, hopeless endeavor. Friendliness and respect is so foreign to me, while hate, vitriol and spite comes so naturally it’s therapeutic. There’s something vile in me, a corruption that I don’t believe is rectifiable. I don’t know how to fix it. I’m tired and angry. I’m dejected. Everything is vapid. How do others feel peace, joy and camaraderie? All that exists for me is resentment, fury, vindictiveness and drudgery. I don’t think I will ever be able to integrate into society. I am an alien. And I am so tired…