Sometimes I hate the fact that I exist. That I muddy up this reality with my ugliness, my mental issues, my imperfection. And at times, it really does seem like the only sensible course of action is to wipe that existence from the face of this planet, hoping that no one will mourn the little grease-stain left behind.
I realize that this is not the case. That there are people who would very much disagree with this sentiment. Nevertheless, it is difficult to look past the damage, the pain, and the internalized messages twisted into vicious instruments of self torture. The brain fights against its own wiring.
Gifts passed down from mother to daughter. From culture to progeny.
Some might read the above and devise arguments, sensible to clever, to convince me otherwise. What I had failed to understand for many years is that this isn't a matter of convincing. This isn't something that can be academically argued away. This is hardware. This is wiring. This is the result of a systematic process of ingraining and alteration of cost benefit analysis. This is fight or flight responses hijacked, and the rush of endorphines repurposed to code the negative as a positive.
Eventually, you need the beatings -- you don't feel alive without them.