You Hate Yourself

What is the trigger?


Down to the last minute and irrelevant detail I am able to wormhole out of comfort and safety, to connect every seemingly impossible dot, to form a line which leads me to my destination: a punch in my gut, an ache I do not know how to soothe.

How do we make better days, when the ache rises from my bones to right under my skin at the most inappropriate timings — at a party, a social event, when everybody around me is progressing with a direction? I am a body with no soul. I look at myself from a third perspective. Lackluster — that is what I see.

When will I learn? I do not deserve this. You do not deserve this. Every scenario of myself plays in my mind like a broken tape rewinding itself automatically — I am crying my guts out, perfectly aware of the disgusting, cracking wail that leaves my mouth; I close my eyes only to see images I want out of my head.

My stomach ties itself into a twisted knot and a lump forms in my throat. I want to scream and make you understand that I am a body full of inconsistencies. I am walking with no soul. I am self-doubt. 

My inconsistencies make it hard to prove my point. My mind is a whirlpool. I wish you could understand how I feel. What is a word for a sinking feeling, a drowning feeling, the struggle to pick a word out of a mental image of a pool you are unable to clearly see?

One day I hope to wake up with clear thoughts. One day I hope to realize I didn’t think about it the day before. One day I hope this falls behind and one day, I hope we get what we both deserve.

But today for the third time I thought of you and what you did, and I pictured every detail of what I asked and what you told me, in my head, over and over and over again.

And it breaks me, each time.

That is the trigger. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

More From Thought Catalog