Writing makes it real

Maybe I'm not such a loser. Maybe I really have stopped hating myself.

Writing, finding and saying the words out loud and on paper really does turn mythical, whimsical, porous thoughts into a more concrete form.

After reading and retreading my previous post...Man, I have sent a helluva lot of time hating myself, my ills, habits and behaviors. The prev post has hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn't realize how much heavy self-loathing I was feeding and carrying around.  I mean, I guess I really took to heart and believed I was a loathsome, weird, lying, distant, mean, thoughtless, self-absorbed, unhealable soul.
Like my worth amounted to bout a half-penny.
I have been so very sensitive and I grew up around the cruelest of people. Refusing to mimic such bad behavior, I am and always have been the odd man out. They couldn't break me or make me turn into one of them, so they hated me, teased me and rejoiced in punishing me.
I could never be one of them. I would never mirror my parents behavior.

I've always been very, very different.  So be it.
I make good choices.