Has anyone reading this ever felt self-loathing? A few years ago I bathed in that shit.
I am someone who still writes about pain.
I cannot truly remember what heartbreak tastes like.
It used to sit on the tip of my tongue. In the midst of every breath I took.
I barely showered so it would not wash away.
I was such a masochist that I made it my lover when no one else wanted to stay.
I was convinced I deserved to feel this way to understand redemption. That being marginalized by my own doing and immersing myself in suffering would bring me freedom one day.
The years changed me. A lot. I remember one night it was pouring rain. And all I could think was that the sound of it hitting the ground would never compare to the sound of my heartbeat.
This is how I held on. I still wait for the rain.
As pathetic as I felt, that moment I was flooded with dreams of my happiness. For the first time in a while, I lay in bed mourning all the things I loved and lost.
I became enamored by the way I used to love myself. And I finally realized that my self-deprecation had run its course.
I am different now. Maybe I am different in better ways. But I am also not the same in the ways that made me love myself.
I vividly recall the day I realized that I had exhausted all means of salvaging something I once held so dear.
Certain times of the year still feel so difficult. But I am resilient.
Where I once felt so emotionally attached to my joy, I sometimes feel sadness. At feeling like it is possible to love and loathe myself in equal measure.
Today I bear witness.
My life is much fuller. Richer. Brighter.
Without depression controlling every aspect of it.
But I know it will be back again someday. So I wait for the rain.
I am most afraid of the possibility that self-love can be fleeting. All I can do is hold on to the greatest parts of myself. And promise to love myself better.