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umm...
You see they dont understand. I hate myself. And that hate makes me unable to love some one else. For how can you love other people when you hate yourself. For this reason I do not have close friends. When I start to get to close I purposely distance myself. The only two people who I consider close to me I dont trust. How can I trust them. I dont trust myself. They are close to me so I rely on them, which means that if they were to fail me, I would lose much. So I am constantly worried about my relationship with them. And my every action around them is focused on making sure that they won't have any reason to f*ck me over. Which means that the relationship is fake anyways. This continues my hate of myself.
I am a disfigurement in my own eyes. The chronic illness really was an ironic hit. I had already spent years considering myself a handicapped person in the eyes of society. So although it did make me even more unhappy with myself and my life, it wasnt as big of a hit as most people would think it would be. I am disgused with myself because of things that I did and could do. Yet I cannot find the strength to make myself a person who I do not hate, even the hate of myself does not push me to the effort of self-improvement.
I walk around evey day with a smile on my face. I am known at work as a happy, care-free, hippy. They think I am such an amazing kid, because I have a chronic illness and yet I always seem to be happy and content with life. They dont realize that I smoke weed, not because I have a chronic illness, but to spend time away from having to face all the things I hate about myself. They dont understand that I have to be constantly doing things so that I dont have time to think about the things I hate about myself.
What person besides someone who has felt pain like mine, has been to the point where the pain is so great, they consider suicide. I think of suicide as dishonorable. I am against suicide. And yet I have been so sick of my life and of the pain, I am horrified to admit that it even crossed my mind, and disgusted to my core that I attempted. And yet I have thought about it since I tried. It only makes me hate myself more, but I still could not kill myself, and I probably will never lower myself to it. I only get so low that I think of it, and then later hate myself even more because I could think of doing something like that.
To those of you who feel it necessary to attempt to bash what I have written as self-pity, etc... please dont waste my time. Im not an idiot. I can see that myself and have already improved alot since this entry. So please dont spare me the cr*p. If you can say that you have experienced homelessness for over a year, a major chronic illness with chronic pain, military school with corporal punishment, drug addiction, and/or other things equal to or greater, then I am perfectly happy to hear you bash me for my self-pity. If not, then F*CK OFF. I am posting this exerpt for feedback, constructive critism, observations, and other peoples personal experiences only. I am just looking to see if anyone notices things about it that I missed. And before you ask, no this is not fiction. Yes, this is a journal entry that I wrote. No I am not going to kill myself. This entry was months ago. I am no longer as much of an emo little f*ck and am beginning to enjoy life. And yes Chuck Norris's real name is Switchblade Killingsworth.
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