Printing a cheery design depresses me. It might’ve been better five years ago, when I fell down the stairs, if I’d never gotten up. I could’ve avoided the things that happened, all the people I’ve lost, the feeling of failure that greets me like a lover every morning. I push it away like one you’ve had too long.
And I need all the reasons I can find not to hate myself. But it’s hard. Even the idea makes me shiver. Because I see loving myself like looking down on others. Riding around on a high horse. And I never want to think I’m better then the people I see on the street. The ones who have it rough. The ones who don’t fit in. The ones I see my own face in.
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