There has been something different about me these past few days that I couldn’t pinpoint exactly. But last night, while I listened to a trapped insect knocking against the ceiling, probably thinking that the way out is always up, I have finally managed to place that feeling — self-loathing. Contrary to popular belief (because I am narcissistic and all that), I am actually capable of small doses of hatred for myself. It is not the same as low self-esteem, wherein you think you suck in some (or all) departments, which is something I have struggled with my entire life. Self-hatred is an entirely new level of negative emotional hierarchy I have sunk into.
Alright, that sounds a lot more serious than it really is. I won’t do anything irrational and I do have proper outlets for these sort of emotions, one of it I am performing right now. Maybe I am blowing things out of proportion, it’s just that after all these years of ‘loving’ and accepting myself for who I am, I have forgotten to try to be better, or simply to try. I told myself I am not fat, that a few extra pounds is worth the good food I can have, that being able to eat the things my sister abstains from in her face is worth it. And you know, most of the time it really is. That, however, shouldn’t stop me from exercising. I haven’t even gotten any kind of exercise for the entire month, and that’s where the self-loathing arises. It’s not from the fact that I think I’m not slim enough but from the fact that I can’t make myself try.
I know, I know, how stupid of me to be complaining about not doing something instead of just doing it, right? I don’t even know how to justify myself. I don’t even want to. I mean, if I were able to I wouldn’t feel like this in the first place. Exercising is only a small section of this particular picture. There is also that really depressing feeling I get when I think about reading anything I have written in the past, be it a week or three years ago. It is why so many of my blog posts don’t make it past the proofreading stage. All the essays I have been proud of I want to rip apart or throw into the fireplace (if I had one). Sometimes, I am arrested by this urge to delete my blog and begin over. That is an entirely new notion to me. I have deleted a blog before, one that I began when I was in primary school I believe, but I have never thought of the day that I might delete this one. It is so much time and effort that I have poured into, something that grows and does not deplete. Why on earth would I ever want to erase all of that? I thought. Well, gee molly, now I finally understand why other writers and bloggers have done it.
Sigh. It probably has a lot to do with the unproductive holiday I have had. I’ll get around to feeling better about myself once college begins. I feel sick to the stomach just thinking about proofreading this so I’ll leave that for another time. Do excuse any grammatical errors.
edit: Ok I did proofread this in the end. Perfectionism was here before any kind of self-loathing.
