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Self Hate - Blog Posts
WARNING : Contains themes of self-hate, mild suicidal mention if you squint hard enough, and enough depression to give a dog a heart attack
"Yourself?" the alchemist raises an eyebrow behind his wire-rimmed frames.
You swallow, feeling embarrassed already, but nod.
"Yes, um, they're for me," you answer hesitantly, trying not to let him see how awkward you're feeling.
The alchemist surveys you with an unrecognisable emotion in his eyes that's either disgust or concern or confusion. Or probably even a mix of all 3. You really have no clue. Either ways, it makes you feel like you're being literally dissected and observed from every point of view possible, and you squirm uncomfortably in the chair.
"You know how love potions work, am I right?" the alchemist asks, and you almost jump in your seat as he speaks after what feels like an eternity.
"Um, right, yes! I, uh, the person you like drinks it and then, if you're the first person he or she sees, they fall in love with you," you recite quickly. You had memorised the line off Wikipedia from the number of times you'd contemplated using a love potion.
The alchemist gives you another deep, profound look, before delivering the very line you'd dreaded hearing from the moment you came up with the stupid plan, "It's not going to work."
You sigh in resignation, slumping forward and burying your face in your palms.
"Why not?" you ask quietly, forgetting to hide the tremble in your voice.
"Because the only person who can make you love yourself is you yourself," he says, and you look up, confused.
"What? Do you really think I don't know that? That I haven't tried?" you ask, getting mildly pissed, "I have tried so many times, for so many years, to love myself. You think I don't want to feel confident? To feel amazing about myself for once? To feel like, it's okay to be alive? You think I don't wish I was like the other people? You think I don't wish I were someone who doesn't want to claw her eyeballs out everytime she gets reminded of how imperfect she is? I've tried, Doctor, I have tried everything. I tried encouraging myself. I tried not to think negatively about myself. I tried to keep myself motivated. I tried to talk it out with friends, family, to keep myself away from drastic measures. But no one, NO ONE is ever there to watch me sob in bed at 2 a.m because I'm just a huge bloody mess. I have done my best to act as my own therapist for years and years now, and it doesn't work. How am I supposed to convince myself that I'm worthy of survival? That I'm not just a waste of time, space and money? You think I don't know, that the only person who can love myself truly is me? You think I don't want that?!"
You have to admit, the alchemist had nerves of steel to just sit there and observe you calmly as you ranted angrily in front of him. He gives you a few seconds to calm down and silently offers you a glass of water.
"Sorry," you try to apologise after the outburst, immediately feeling ashamed, but he shakes his head.
"Don't be sorry. It's a common experience for those who feel self-hatred to want to lash out occassionally and wish they were different," he says with all the calmness of a gentle ocean breeze.
"...so, why won't the love potion work?" you ask carefully.
"Because the love potion only makes people's emotions towards you change. It can't change your emotions. If you don't like yourself, you can't drink it and expect your emotions to change," the alchemist says. He's still simply sitting behind his desk, elbows resting on the polished rosewood desk, fingers interlocked below his chin, his gaze on you.
You sigh, disappointed. "Alright then, I suppose this was just a waste...Thank you for your time." You stand, about to leave and go home and despair about another failed plan, when he stops you.
"I may not be a therapist," he says suddenly just as your hand grips the cold steel handle of the door, "But I can still give suggestions."
You pause, facing the door. Half of you wants to leave and never return again, but the better half of you forces you to stay, even if you're still facing the door.
"Like what?" you ask, and your voice is so fragile, so brittle, begging for hope and love and acceptance, a voice so dangerously close to being pushed over the edge, a voice that's screaming for help, even if you'll never admit it. As you turn to face the alchemist, he can see the pain in your eyes as you rebuke yourself mentally for ever being here, the dread in the taut lines of your face as you mentally scold yourself for troubling the alchemist with your petty problems, the resignation in your pursed mouth as you wait for him to deliver advice that you've probably heard all your life.
"I know, there's clearly not much that I can say that will ever possibly make you feel better. I know, trust me. I've seen others go down that rabbit hole before too. And...the only thing that helps? Forgetting it exists. Get to work. Get to life. Work. Eat. Sleep. Study. Meet friends. Have fun. And for a while, forget your problems. I'm no therapist. I don't know what you're supposed to say to a person going through absence of self-esteem. But distracting yourself and reminding yourself that life's not all about you can make you better. It may not drag away the problems. It may not make you feel awesome all of a sudden. But it can give you a break. A resting period, where you can gather your strength once again to fight your battles. Just stop thinking for a while, and be busy."
You're surprised. You thought he'd tell you some amazing life secret that nobody knew that could magically fix your problems. Hey, miracles do happen now and then.
But instead, he just tells you to be busy.
For a second, you're annoyed, and you're about to tell him that you're a very busy person as it is.
But then you get what he means.
He meant to be so engrossed in living life, that you forget about your problems now and then. Your mind can freshen itself to face the problems of your heart another day. He meant that you should be so concentrated in working, relaxing, enjoying, laughing, smiling, speaking, that your brain doesn't get the time to hate yourself. He meant that you should live your life in your own way to the fullest, so that even if you hate yourself, you can never say that you didn't give life a shot. That even if you hate yourself and don't think you deserve to exist, the one good thing you managed to do was live life to the best of it.
And somehow, even though you still hate yourself, even though you still wish you were never born, you manage to offer the alchemist a small smile. A smile with hope, acceptance, and the determination to keep moving on. A smile that holds the courage to face the world and yourself with renewed vigour. A smile that holds all the pain of a person drowning in self-hate, yet also holding the joy of a person who knows what to do.
"Thank you, Doctor. I guess I didn't need the love potion after all."
“You have to understand, the use of love potions is both morally gross and legally r-”, you interrupt the alchemist, and say the potion is meant for yourself.
alex g reference???
i wanna crack a rib.
How can you think I’m the most beautiful creature you've ever seen? I still can’t look myself in the eye in front of the mirror.
I’m starting to believe you
I hate myself because no one has ever cared enough to teach me why I should love it.
Then I met you
I hate that I need constant reassurance that you actually like me. I hate that I always feel like a burden. I hate that I say stupid things. I hate that I can’t take them back. I hate that I hate myself. But I love that you don’t hate me.
I can safely say that I don’t hate you too
Dear Anxiety,
I remember that I used to hate you
You told me not to take the bait you
Filled my head with thoughts like flames and you
Told me I was the one to blame.
Five women get real about body image issues. Transcript I am ugly. I'm too fat. I'm not good enough. I'm not pretty enough. Closed off, like wallowing in my self-pity. I was in a mind frame of just kinda letting myself go. I remember calling myself a lot of hurtful things. I felt like I didn't matter. Read More
Buying property in a location you love
Hidden behind a mirror
Ridden with shame and fear
Performing for the world
What you think they want to see
Denying that you're lovable
In self hate and doubt
Running away in anticipation
But wishing that you'd get found
I always fuck it up.
And I deserve to be miserable
For what I've done.
I wish I would have been
A good partner
But I think I'm not.
Please don't leave me.
I need you.
But if you do
I'd understand
As you deserve better.
Please take care.
I wish you the best.
I'm so sorry.
I love you.
But I hate myself so much.
I hate myself.
But I love you so much.
Same con sept as earlier but actually will to bill in this Au
Billfamau
Someone tag me a better name cuz it’s a mouthful and dosnt fit well enough
Bill fam au, but reverse Steve
Like Will cipher to canon bill cipher but my au
when people ask me what I’m particularly good at, I want to tell them, “ruining lives”. it has become such a niche talent of mine that instead of overwhelming shame and disappointment in myself, I only shut down these days, because my body has now been inundated. I ruin lives like it is something I was born for – to make my father cry and my mother develop a chronic illness; for my grandparents to feel unloved and for my aunts and uncles to regret loving me; for ruining my therapist’s weekend-nights; for my friends to feel like they’re giving too much and not getting enough; for never doing justice to my pup. I was told that since the day I was born, I never drank milk – if drinking milk is to sustenance as love is to living, I was and am and will continue to be an abject failure at both; there is something hidden in this analogy of milk: a baby is born with the natural inclination for drinking milk, as is a human being their capacity for love; it is then unfortunate that I have repeatedly disappointed my family’s expectations of following both. I am now lactose intolerant, and it seems as if I am intolerant of love as well. I’m not usually an essentialist, but even I can see that I lack something essential; something that should be here isn’t, though there is something darker and uglier and tar-like making my chest cave in on itself like a black hole, in its place. it is hard for me to process love, it is hard for me to consume milk; when you say I don’t hold space for your love, I want to ask you why you believe I can, why you believe it is a choice and not a deficit; because the only love I can accept is in the form of lactose-free milk, not milk powder, and while many have packets of the latter at home, they don’t go through the trouble of buying the former: milk powder is nothing but milk in its powdered form, and while easier to take, doesn’t make it much better; your love is easier to take when you’re funny and kind, but it does not make it easier for me digest. and it is so silly, but so crucial. new-born babies don’t have a personality, and if they do seem to, they must be fundamentally flawed – no one ever tells you how hard it is to be a whole human being when you’ve been considered a fundamentally flawed baby. nobody ever tells you how to learn to love; if love is an action, and actions speak louder than words, and it is actions which give meaning to life, is it surprising that I ruin lives through inaction? I talk about caring for people the way they want to be cared for, not the way you want them to care for you; at the same time, I do not serve milk to my guests, it doesn’t even pass my mind to offer, the option just does not exist for me – which is very curious indeed.
Guess what you dumb whores (I say that lovingly) I found even more to hate about myself low key didn’t trying it was possible but I looked in the fucking mirror and I’m never losing my virginity since so one should even have to see my body naked✌🏽🤗😚 👅
I honestly and truthfully hate myself.
My hair:
I’m black and I get perms and I really wanna go natural. Told my mom and she told me that if u were to go natural all I would do was get made fun of. My relaxed hair grows so fucking slow and turns nappy really quick so when I get sew-ins you can tell the difference and I already get made fun of for that plus my fave is already fat and the only thing that makes it look slightly better is my hair. Yikes
My body:
I’m fat. I have scars everywhere. My thighs look like drum sticks. I have hip dips and that plus the way I already look makes me go from a 1 to a -12. I have stretch marks literally make me look so fucking disgusting and I have so many that I know that none of them are going away even when I lose weight. SOMETHING SO SIMPLE AS MY FINGERS ARE EVEN A FUCKING DISAPPOINTMENT. my fingers couldn’t be fucking normal and straight and have of them if curved. My fucking nails are just annoying. My sister lifted my shirt and goes oh I thought ur stomach plugged out a lot more than that.
My skin:
My pores are fucking huge. Every time I shave you can see the pores in my leg from a mile away and it looks like a have a fucking disease, I have bad hygiene and I don’t take care of my skin and it’s fucking disgusting.
My face:
My acne is so bad. My hyperpigmentation has literally ruined any confidence I had left. My teeth are ducked up and the adults in my fucking house hold refuse to get me a dentist appointment.my nose literally is a pig nose which makes it SOOOOO much better bc I am a fucking pigs. My eyes are this dull dark brown. Not that beautiful hazel color that everyone loves it just plain and fucking boring.
There is nothing for anyone to love about me. There’s nothing for me to love about my self.