Thoughts on why I hate myself.
Entry posted by Kaleidoscope Tekulo
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You know that person who, despite all of your flaws, just doesn't care? You know, the person who looks past your faults and motivates you to do better.
That person is so not me.
I mean, sometimes I might act that way towards other people. I honestly don't care about someone's orientation or beliefs or whatever. But that's not because I'm a nice person. No, the reason I don't care is because I am genuinely apathetic. The reason I don't care is because I am so self absorbed that I am too busy dealing with my own stuff to care about other people.
Whenever I goof up, my mind goes into "self hate" mode. One time when i messed up at work, I was yelled at and the only way I could live with myself was to bash my head into a wall just to feel pain. Another time when I messed up at work (I burned a tray of cookies), I chanted "I hate myself, I hate myself..." around five times... in front of my boss. I guess that's how I work. I sweat the small stuff enough that I'm overcome with so much guilt that I either have to bring myself to physical harm, or, more likely, be a bully with self-slander. This is why I am not that kind of person that I mentioned earlier. I do not motivate myself to do better. I do not see past my own faults. I stress out so much that I become emotionally exhausted which makes me apathetic. It's how I live with myself.
I hate it.
My anxiety and depression probably didn't help me in this respect. Like at all. Not even a little bit. And even though I've gone through treatment and I'm feeling pretty fantastic, I'm still not over it entirely. It also doesn't help that my family has a low tolerance for my being a ditz. And don't get me wrong here, I love my family. They've supported me, raised me, and loved me. And they're awesome. Wonderful. Fantastic. Buuut they could also be a driving force for my want of self destruction (so I take them with a grain of salt. But hey, what family is perfect, right?)
Case in point: Yesterday my family and I went over a family friend's house to celebrate the holiday (which is the most depressing holiday of the year). While I was there, I did something. Something horrible. Something major. Something that could have potentially forced an evacuation of the entire planet to Mars.
I broke a glass.
Once I did, my family (whom I love! Really, I do!) moaned my name in that tone that just says "Oh god, he did it again, why do we put up with him?" You know the one, right? That one quiet, subtle tone that screams shame and humiliation which is so loud it can be heard in any room of the house. Now, it was at this point that my family dropped everything and came over to where I was. Not helping, mind you, but just standing there to watch the freak of nature in his natural habitat.
Now, my method for cleaning broken glass is as such: Carefully try to piece the shards back together to make sure nothing is still lingering around.
"You know you can't just glue it back together (moron)." (I added in the moron because they do think I am this stupid).
So, recap. I screwed up. I am now overwhelmed with the agony of twenty tortured souls because that's just how my brain works. I snapped.
"Shut up. You are not helping me. Shut up. I have this under control. Shut up. I already hate myself enough for literally every other human being on the planet. Just. Shut. Up." (Okay, so I didn't actually say all of that. I just said "Shut up" Whenever I'm losing my mind, I speak in between the lines).
So, shortly after this, our lovely hostess walks in and asks what's going on. Once she learns about the broken glass, her first question, her first instinct is "Are you alright?"
I said I was fine. I mean, no shards of glass had cut my skin or anything, but I was lying. I wasn't alright. I was giving myself way too much guilt over something insignificant. I was being harassed with one snyde comment and that was enough to make me flip out at my family. Above all, though, I was almost moved to tears because I was so unused to anyone asking me if I was alright that that one small gesture of kindness actually felt significant to me.
You know what, I would love to be normal. I would love it if I could just not sweat the small stuff. Alas, the damage is done, and right now I am that guy who thinks something so small as breaking a glass is important enough to write this entire entry about.
Ugh... I don't care anymore.
... I guess that's apathy for you...
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