I cycle through tears of depression and laughing like a villain. I rub my hands over my face. Pressing my palms into my eyes is a relief. If the pressure were always there I’d be on top of the world. From across the shop a coworker eyes me suspiciously. All I can do is giggle.
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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