I spend so much time hating myself. For valid reasons. I’m hurting people I love. I think I’ve spent many years justifying my behaviour— thinking it was circumstantial, or because of other people’s actions causing me to react and protect myself. 

In truth, I’m the one who’s fucked. I’m the one who is so scared of being abandoned I will do literally anything to avoid it. Except stay away from people. No, I’m too hungry for love and attention to forgo it. 

I hate myself for this. I hate myself for how I cope. 

And yet, that’s the illness, isn’t it? 

It’s not the real me, right? 

The real me is hiding under this fear, this pain, these maladaptive coping mechanisms. She’s lost somewhere under there and I really miss her. 

I don’t want to justify my shitty actions. I don’t want to say it isn’t my responsibility. 

But it feels better to say “this, this shit, that’s your disorder. That’s the demon you must fight. That’s why you’re in therapy. That’s the wound you are trying to heal. You’re toxic, you’re harmful, but that’s not because of your true self. That’s because of all the trauma and neglect that wired your brain in a fucked up way as a kid and now you’re stuck wrestling with the consequences. It’s hard. It’s painful. It’s scary. And you don’t know where to go next. But if you commit to healing, commit to growing, maybe one day you will find a way to live where the true you can exist.”

I’m sick. I need help. I’m not a bad person. 