so much hate.

it hasn't been like this for so so long and I really didn't miss it.

At least now it takes an event, a catalyst. It doesn't just happen upon me like a disease, like tragedy, like someone calling you up in the middle of the night.

and I really don't know why this is my response. I don't know what goes wrong in my brain, in my chemicals. I just don't know.

Because my muscles are constricted with hatred. My limbs are hanging onto themselves, nothing else to hang onto.

I cannot stand to be touched. I cannot stand to be seen, to look into anyone's eyes.

I have been staring at my computer screen for hours, hoping for some distraction, or for some inspiration, anything, anything. Some urge to dispel something? Some wish to contact someone? Some feeling other than this hopelessness, worthlessness.

This that I hoped, thought, believed that I had conquered, triumphed over. But that has been living there all along.

incapacitating.

I hate everything.

I hate the television. I hate other people's words. I hate other people. I hate me, most of all.

And it has been a long time since I could use the word hate and mean it.

It feels childish to me. Adult persons do not hate. They do not fester and mope and mourn and hide. So I even hate that I hate.

I feel like the past ten years of my life, in which I felt I had grown so far. Become something I liked. I feel like it has been torn from me. All worthless, all hopeless, meaningless.

Now I can't even give myself the gift of wallowing in self-pity. I do not pity myself. I feel like I must have been fooling myself. I feel like I should give up, give up everything. For the first time since I was sixteen I feel like nothing I do matters.

Any reassurances just make me feel worse.

Anybody telling me things will be okay makes it worse.

I KNOW it will be okay. Everything is always okay. Everything always passes. Things are forgotten. Things fade and become less wounding. People move on. Life goes on. I know it all, I have been through it all. I know it and have known it over and over and over again

and it never fucking helps, does it?

It never fucking helps in the middle of feelng this bad to know that the bad will lessen over time.

I do so wish that I was wealthy and could simply call myself a nervous breakdown and not have to do anything about anything for as long as I felt like it.

I don't know how long this will take.

There is still so much more to get through that I have not even allowed myself to think about yet. because I just can't stand it right now.

I feel like I have been betrayed and that I have betrayed. That the strong me that even I believed in is a lie. That I have not changed at all. That at my core I am incompetent, shameful, stupid. And that it will never be any more than that, that to think otherwise would be fooling myself.

And at the same time the ever-so-wise therapist in my brain tells me that it's just the old demons saying that. That I'm okay you're okay. Etc.

And this time I am not so sure that is true.

This time, I don't know anymore.