The alarm stops. I exercise, shower, smoke a cigarette so I can sit in front of the computer. There…that’s better…back in the saddle again…I sigh. I’ll go to work feeling good about myself. I won’t have to carry the guilt of not doing what I love. The act itself is all the motivation I need.
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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