Today I made myself a promise: return to bed. So I give in. I try reading a few pages from The Pugilist At Rest but set it down quickly. After shutting off the light I make sure my phone is charging. This simple mattress on the floor is enough to save my soul.
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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