I am so ugly, the ugliest most disgusting being ever. I am vile, vomitous, loathsome. I can barely tolerate being in my own skin. Everything about me is ugly. My outside, my inside. Especially my inside–especially my thoughts, my feelings, my anger, hurt, pain and frustration. But especially my fear. I strive so hard to stop making the mistakes I have always made. I strive so hard to do things right. And yet, I always do the same things wrong again, over and over. Like giving trust, and it always being misplaced. So now instead of them being in the wrong, its me, for continuing to do it. Now its my bad, all on me, because I should have known better. What is wrong with me? Why do I never learn from my mistakes? Why do I keep failing?
I can’t even look at myself. I am so loathsome. I am a failure, worthless, who will never be like others. I will always wear the stench of worthlessness, of filth and trash. I am unable to have the things people have. I cannot function like others. I barely function at all. I am the diseased leper, who should be left behind so as not to be a burden, not to bring vileness and ugliness upon them.
Everything I do is failure. Everything I do pushes me down farther. Everything I do is disaster. I cannot trust anyone, no one at all. I cannot even trust myself. All I do ultimately betrays me, sends into the quicksand. All my failures remind me of my worthlessless, my ugliness, how I am nothing and deserve the nothing that I have. Sometimes I try to struggle, to push out of the quicksand. But I am in too deep. I keep being pulled further down with every effort I make to save myself.
I can’t try to save myself because it pushes me closer to the end. Everything I have ever done and will do lead to my ultimate demise. I despise myself as others always have. I know I am incapable of success, of happiness, of closeness to another human being. I know whatever I will do, will only remind me of how worthless I really am. I am ready to accept there is nothing I can do stop my death. Struggling brings it closer faster, but accepting and waiting will make it take longer. But at least I won’t have to face my ugliness at every stroke, every action. Maybe, I’ll even have some peace without the struggling, before I go. I am afraid to live, because I always fail. I am no longer afraid to go. It is the only thing in this world I can count on.