I Hate ME.

I was inspired to write this post when I saw a character in a TV show explain away his addiction to his parents like so: that it wasn't them he didn't love, it was the hate he had for himself that drove his illness. I thought of all the times I've acted in a way that could lead the people I love to believe I didn't care about them. Because it kills me to think about how returning to anorexia over and over again has made them feel many times as though I didn't love them enough to combat the demon that it is. I write this to explain to others that my illness doesn't manifest from a hatred of others but from a hatred of myself.

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What is it like to hate me?

I want to be as thin as a ghost, to disappear into the comfort of emptiness, hollowness, and emotionlessness, bound by the gift of not feeling the pain, unworthiness, and not-enough-ness I incessantly feel. I want the day to dawn at 12 pm so I can sleep away the horrors of my mind. I want the days to go faster so the relenting chatter of fear and worry escapes the worry lines that are ingrained into every crevice of my face. I want people to understand, but I don’t want them to at the same time, for it would be a sin to wish this pain on even the cruellest kinds. I don’t wish this pain on my worst enemy, not for a moment, not even a tiny little bit at all. I want many things because I’ve come to know a world where all that I want is something that also hurts me and everybody I know. It feels like a wicked curse. Mr. Monster, what did I say for you to hate me so much, so young? Did I talk too loudly in my sleep? Did I sing my lullabies out of tune? Did I count my numbers out of order? For at that age, these were the only things I’d done. Maybe I did something worse to deserve this sorrow in another life. I hope I deserved it. I hope I deserved every rhythm wrong with my heart, every time I’ve been ripped from my home, every time the world was so black I would’ve rather been dead than to have cast myself amongst its light.

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Hating ME is not about YOU.

I see how my hating me destroys you every time I don't eat, every time I get lost in my own world, and every time I dismiss your fears and act like the thing that scares you most isn't real when we both know that it is. I see it. I know it. And despite every part of it, you are the one thing that matters, that keeps me chained to the ground I feel ripping beneath my feet. You are the one thing in this world I love, that I have always loved and will always love. But loving you is hard when I can't see in front of me. Loving you is hard as I navigate my car through the everlasting fog of hatred that constantly exists before me. I try to find you, but I can’t quite see you. I promise, I try so hard to find you, to touch you, to talk to you, but this fog is everywhere at once, all of the time. But it cannot stop the love I have so deeply, so purely, and so truly for you.

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I hate ME more than most will ever come to know the word ‘hate’. And for that, you’d think I couldn’t feel love. But somehow, in some magic way, I feel it so deeply for you, the ones I love.

Kisses & Hugs,

COS xo