I don’t like many things about myself. Actually, I hate everything about myself, except for my writing. As my self-loathing has reached critical mass over the past 5 years the only thing keeping me grounded was being able to get my feelings out on paper. I think my writing is very dark, but it’s true of who I am.
Maybe that’s why it sucks that the first time I let my Mom read a piece of my poetry she hated it.
I had my journal out while visiting my parents over the weekend, and my Mom noticed and wanted to know what I was doing. I told her I was writing, and she got really excited. You see, when I was in elementary school I used to write poems. I wrote sappy, shitty poems. The type of poems where they give you a prompt, and a structure, and you fill in the blanks with words. My Mom and Dad loved those poems, but those poems straight up fucking sucked. They were the billshit writing of a 10 year old kid. I wrote those poems in class because it was for a grade, not for myself. Those poems didn’t reflect a single piece of how I thought of myself.
So when my Mom read my poems and didn’t react, I knew I was in for some shit. She handed my journal back to me and faked a smile. I thought she’d throw some fake ass compliments my way and leave me be, but I was wrong. She didn’t even pretend to like what I wrote. She told me she preferred my earlier poems, because they sounded so much happier. I said I don’t remember any of those poems, because none of them ever reflected how I felt. She kept that fake smile plastered on her face, told me she thinks I’d feel better if I tried writing something that sounded happier, and than left.
I have to admit, I didn’t expect that. I never share my writing with those around me, because I never knew how they’d react, and I’m afraid of being told my writing sucks. I write under a fake name that holds meaning to only me, and I post on a blog. But I realize now the reason I never shared my work is because, deep down, I’ve always known it was shit. Because this writing, it’s 100% me. It’s honest and raw. I never sugarcoat a damn thing. I tell it exactly like it is.
But I’m an idiot. If the writing is 100% me, than of course it’s going to be shit! I’m a fucking piece of shit, so why wouldn’t writing about who I am give off that same vibe? I’m a fucking loser. I have good reason to hate who I am. So anything I do will reflect that. It shows in how fucking fat I am. It shows in how fucking lazy I am. It shows in how dumb, how inferior, how ignorant I am. And it shows in how shitty my writing is.
I had 1 escape, 1 thing tying me down. So long as I had my words, I could pretend I was confessing my sins, and I could trick myself into thinking I deserve to live. I’m wrong about that. These words only show how low and pathetic I am. These words reveal to the world that I deserve to suffer. These words are 100% me, and that means they have no chance to ever be considered anything other than disgusting.
I’ve lied to myself long enough. I keep on putting of the ending, but no more. No more arbitrary dates or goals. No more giving myself days or months or years to fix it. No more setting a timeframe to get things in order before I go. It’s high time I shut the fuck up and just do it.
Everything I write is 100% me. As such, every word I have ever written is complete shit. I’m not waiting for the New Year. I’m not giving myself a silly goal, like being below a certain weight by my birthday, or having completed some work/life goal within the next month. No more excuses. I have no value to add to the world. My life actually sucks away from the potential of everybody around me. I thought I was a 0 sum person, getting by on the knowledge that at least I wasn’t creating a negative impact on the world.
But I am.
And it needs to end.
I need to end.
And I’m going to end.
Thank you, everybody, for putting up with me. I know the future is bright for this world, because there are so many kind and wonderful people out there. And I won’t get in the way of your progress anymore.
Thank you, and goodbye.
That little light from your lampshade 
Oh dear,you broke my hearth with this post and I say it as a mom ,first and then as a woman and girls who used to constantly find herself not adequate and never good enough.
Whatever is 100%you can’t be shit,I know it sounds overrated but it is not and it is true.The only thing you put your feelings in words and found the courage to show them to someone is more brave then you think.Unfortunately parents always want their kids being happy and without worries.They also refuse them to grow and often feel useless against their kids suffering and this is why at times they react like they shouldn’t,it to hide their own sense of unadequacy .Please don’t give up!
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Nobody is 100% anything. In the human world, there are no full-on angels or demons. If you go through with this plan, here’s what’s likely: Your spirit will emerge into some kind of gray fog, that will make your corporeal existence seem like paradise, and you won’t know where to turn. That will suck worse than anything you have endured, thus far. Who said this? The late Jerry Lewis, who had a near-death experience about ten years prior to his actual death. He came back to, and said what he found, dying in a moment of despair was a gray void. He couldn’t wait to get back here, and stayed among us for ten more years. Don’t write yourself off yet.
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