I HATE MYSELF

I hate myself for being out of control. I used to navigate my emotions well, and keep my thoughts captive the way I keep my demons at bay. They couldn't bother me more than they should, I used to take authority over them. Now I'm not so sure what my status is. Who's holding the wheel? It's almost as if I handed them the lock and the keys and showed them where the prison is. It's as if I told them how to wrap the chains or where to whip so the pain would be unbearable. 

I hate myself for acting foolish and naive. Innocence had been my greatest asset. It would save me from the tormented world and protect me from the polluted souls. For years it carried my fragile heart, singing and humming putting my mind at ease. Softness was my armor no shadow could penetrate. Though innocence and foolishness could sometimes be mistaken, they are nothing alike. No, this is not innocence, this is pure foolishness. To act like I could be easily manipulated because I'm too tired to go against the current. To undoubtedly follow the blind towards destruction and madness. I know it. I see where this road leads. I know the meaning behind their words or the intent of their actions. I know what's in their hearts. And they are not the people I should look up to. They are not the people I should be with. And yet here I am. With my eyes blindfolded, and my hands in shackles, I follow--I, I obey, I rely, I stay.

I hate myself for speaking ill. Sweet, encouraging, and uplifting words were my favorite. It's always been a privilege to speak about people and circumstances. To watch their gloomy eyes light up, as if I'm literally seeing their hearts mend and their invisible wounds heal. Words should be like a warm embrace for the soul and an antidote to the poisoned mind. But here I am with my words like knives ready to cut the flesh of whoever triggered me. No, it's way better to expose the knives face to face--I could have been brave, I could have been a hero for standing up. So why, why am I hiding the knife behind my back? Why am I flaunting these disgusting words in the dark? When did this heart become this corrupted it could tolerate the poison spitting from my mouth? I don't want to continue uttering this hatred and yet I find myself opening the door, letting it all out. How come this action satisfies a heart that only wants nothing but peace and joy?

I hate myself for craving futile affection. Doesn't matter if the seat next to me gets cold. Doesn't matter if my actions are seen. Doesn't matter if my hard work is not appreciated. Doesn't matter if no one is clapping. It doesn't matter. I don't need the applause. I don't need the attention. I am doing it because it is my purpose in life and the hardship I experience while pursuing it brings me more joy than any affirmation. It should've stayed that way. "Did they see what I just did?", "What can they say when I do this?", "Will they like me? I hope they appreciate my effort." Nothing harmful at first, just an innocent need for attention--but it grew eventually into a hungry monster always waiting to devour the next victim. I crave the affection of just anyone. Tell me I'm doing great. Tell me I'm lovable. Tell me what I did right. Tell me--please. But why? Why do I crave their affection to the point of invalidating my morals, standards, and values? Turning my back to what really matters for the temporary gratification of my need to be recognized. What have I become?

I hate myself for turning into a different person.

I hate myself for letting these things happen.

I hate myself for being passive.

I hate myself for not caring anymore.

I hate myself.

How can I redeem myself? I know exactly what to do. It's not a question of how it's a question of when. When am I going to start redeeming myself? When am I going to be fed up living like this? And when that time happens, will it be too late? Will I be too far gone? Are the pieces too broken to be put back together? Is the house too burnt to be rebuilt? Is the hole too deep to get out? 

I don't want to keep on hating myself. I know we don't want to turn out like this. We don't want to harden hearts. We don't want to curse the world. We don't want to stay living in a world that only sees rotten eggs. We don't want to stay mad. We don't want to be bad. We don't want to turn into different person. 

We want---

We want to love again.

We want to keep choosing peace.

We want to live on purpose.

We want permanent not temporary.

We want joy, not some cheap happiness or short-lived gratification.

We want life to be hard. We want love to be hard. 

Because living is not easy and it will never be and that's what makes it meaningful.

The trials we overcome despite the pain we've experienced, turned the wounds into a beautiful work of art. It is nothing to be ashamed of because it was crafted in a way that shows how we choose to close the wound and heal and not to continue the bleeding that we pour on the people that didn't hurt us.

It's not too late. I'm not too far gone.

We are still screaming "I am still here! The little girl is still here! I am still here."

Don't hate yourself.

We can still do this.

So don't harden your heart.

Let go of the knife.

Free yourself from the grip of fleshy desires.

And let's take this step--one day at a time.