I touch my stomach.There’s muscle where fat once was. I regret the years I passed lazy, drunk, depressed. I remember hating myself so much, have I changed, perhaps not? Why else did I pick up smoking again, drive off the ones who care, if not for self-destruction than what? I smile.
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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