Sitting with My Self-Hate
Some days, the ickiness eats me up. What I see in the mirror: my face or that part of my body I have touched. That ickiness eats me up. I look and see the emotional disgust erupt throughout, like so many times before. Fractured ribbons of hate, self-loathing. An explosion of discomfort insidiously batters through every metre of my digestive tract, through each pore. Through every nerve. I feel cold inside out.
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