It’s an uphill battle no matter where you’re from. That’s my mantra when I walk the streets, bathing with the great unwashed. You never know what’s going on in people’s heads, the struggles tearing them apart. I tell myself they’re worse than mine. And kindness is the easiest to give.
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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