I hate myself.
It used to be that I hated myself just a little bit, and I pretended that I didn’t. I did well in school. I pretended to be ambitious. People pointed at me and said “look at him, he’s going somewhere in his life.” I thought it was true. I wanted nothing more than to excel – grow up, graduate at the top of my class, get some high paying job, and prove to the world that I was worth something.
But why did I want to do that? Because I harbored secret insecurities. I felt that no one cared about me – least of all my parents. My mom constantly degraded and devalued me. I was afraid of her. Outwardly, consciously I hated her. Subconsciously I was just vying for her love – trying to earn her love in whatever way I could. She has been very influential in my upbringing and the upbringing of my siblings. I don’t mean to place the blame on her, so to speak, but it’s often been said that she “ruined” me. This is true in a sense.
Later on, I wised up to her games.
Blah. I’ve lost my inspiration.