“I Am a Monster”

A Window into the World of the Self-loathing

When I was young, something happened, and I was never able to forgive myself, even though logic declares that I should have no need to. 

I have some troubles, mentally and physically, that have always made it hard for me to do the same things that many others do. I use this as a justification to think less of myself and consider myself different.

My parents never set healthy or consistent guidelines for me, so I have no way of knowing between right and wrong. I nevertheless consider this a personal failing and not a failing of my guardians. 

In my youth, I never developed a healthy relationship with or understanding of sex. Because I don’t trust my own mind or instincts, I never allow myself to communicate my sexual needs or desires. I keep myself mentally and physically under lock and key and consider myself to be trash because I don’t understand myself or my physical desires. 

Nobody wants to have sex with me, for I am gross and ugly. Even when people do want to have sex with me, I may reject them, because I think there is something wrong with them for being attracted to me. If I don’t reject them, I will be insecure and suspicious about their intentions, because why would anyone ever want to have an intimate connection with someone as awful as me?

When I am intoxicated, I become unbearable, but I convince myself that it is helping me cope. My mind tries and fails to reconcile my experiences, which leads into misery spirals. I like to make this worse by drinking even more, because it turns me into the worst version of myself by releasing my inhibitions, all while making communication with my jumbled thoughts impossible. I know I will be able to enjoy the sweet nectar of self-loathing when I return to the sober world, because I will know I went too far again. 

Sometimes I make people uncomfortable, but rather than allowing them to set healthy boundaries with me, I use it as fuel for my self-loathing and either victimize or villainize myself extensively. I would rather hate myself or my loved ones than put in any effort to do better in the future. It is much easier to believe that I am a failure before I even try, than it is to try. 

Since learning to love and support myself is unthinkable, I choose to utilize all of my energy in attempts to love and support others. I do not do this in a healthy way, because I have never allowed myself to learn healthy interactions with anyone, myself or otherwise. I overwhelm my loved ones with my attempts to help, because I am desperate for the human connection that I do not allow myself, and I don’t listen to what they actually want or need from me. 

I like to fall in love with people who are unavailable, because it means I can pine endlessly with no hope of reciprocation. If I only choose to love people who do not connect with me, I can rest assured that they will ultimately break my heart and this will only further prove my unworthiness. 

I seek out the most unbalanced people and devote myself to them wholly, for their problems give me brief windows of relief from my fixation on hating myself. I will use all of the therapeutic techniques that I deny myself to help them, for they deserve understanding and healing and I do not. 

I secretly hope that, once they learn to love themselves, they will love me for helping them, because I could never love myself and thus external love is the only chance I have. However, when those people learn self-love, they leave me for people who have self-respect, because they don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t practice what they preach. I take this as further proof of my failures and spiral into depression every time.

While I am outwardly cheerful, within my mind, I am bitter and resentful to everyone, but most of all, I hate the people I love. I refuse to communicate my needs to them, yet I expect them to know how to take care of me. In doing so, I set them up for failure and use this as an excuse to hate myself for thinking that anyone could or should ever want to help me. 

My best friends often feel like I am trying to buy their friendship, because I am a doormat and will do things that I don’t want to do in order to please them. Since I make my loved ones uncomfortable with this behavior, I take it as easy proof that I am a bad person. 

And when I do find people who love and appreciate me for taking care of them through their troubles, I will ignore all of their progress and only remember the bad times, because seeing their improvement would mean that I have to admit to myself that I have done well and deserve to be loved for my efforts, and I am absolutely not okay with that. 

If I ever have children, I will love them wholeheartedly but keep them at a distance, because I will not know how to connect with them. I will delude myself that I keep my troubles separate from them and will pretend that my life does not affect theirs. I will get depressed as they grow up and become more distant from me, but will nevertheless make no effort to find ways to connect with them, for even feeling love from my own offspring feels like too much for me. 

I ignore all proof that other people have the same struggles and diagnoses that I have. I refuse to accept that all issues present themselves differently even though the symptoms are similar. In ignoring this reality, I am able to continue to believe that I am abnormal. I put myself on a pedestal, self-loathing in my arrogance. 

I never fight to overcome my traumas or triggers because healing would not feel good to me, because it would challenge my lack of self-worth. 

I cannot take care of myself, because I do not believe it is worth my energy. 

If anyone else tries to take care of my basic needs or makes an effort to help out, I use it as an excuse to resent myself even more, because they are doing things that I claim that I cannot do, highlighting my own failings. I feel guilty for any time people devote to me, because I don’t believe I deserve it. This hurts and frustrates my friends, which I take as further proof that I am bad. 

Any time I do break down and actively seek help, the relief is only temporary because I have trained myself to disregard and outright forget anything that doesn’t contribute to my abusive self-narrative. 

If anyone points this out to me, I will agree with them and have magnificent breakthroughs and will feel worlds better, until they leave the room, at which point all progress we make together will vanish. After all, I’m not really allowed to feel good for any reason. I don’t deserve it. 

Healing and getting over my past requires a lot of work, but I refuse to do that work, because I wouldn’t even know where to begin. It is better and easier for me to stay in my familiar hell than to strive for an unknown heaven. Besides, I don’t deserve to feel good. 

Anything that I do that I can’t deny is something that a good person would do, I write off as repercussions for my perceived wrongdoings. But no amount of altruism will ever allow me to forgive myself for existing. 

And the longer I deny myself forgiveness and forward motion, the more proof I have that I am a piece of shit. 

I meticulously craft an inner world where everything that I do that I perceive as bad allows me to victimize myself and shut down. No matter what alternative viewpoints people offer me, I will always paint myself in the worst imaginable light. 

Everyone else is allowed to be flawed, but I am not. I must be better, perfect even, though I don’t understand what perfection is, and I behave erratically, with massive holes in my logic. Nevertheless, I must be completely perfect at all times, by standards that no one knows, and if I am not, I will only use that as an excuse to hate and punish myself. 

I refuse to ever believe in myself, because this guarantees that I will have the predicted outcome of being alone and lonely forever. I am not prepared for any other outcome to be possible, because being wrong about myself scares me. After all, don’t I know myself best?

I have created a terrible prison for everyone who loves me, because if they ever find the courage to confront me about any of this, I will only use that as more proof against myself. 

My loved ones, one by one, will leave me because I refuse to improve my situation and people have limits to how long they can watch someone abuse themself. Pushing my friends to the limits of their love, of course, only proves to me that I am a bad friend and deserve to be left. 

I am not allowed to be loved. 

I don’t deserve to heal. 

I refuse to even want to think better of myself. 

It is easier to believe I am different because it excuses me from having to change.

This is my choice. 

Because every chance I’ve ever had to love myself, I haven’t taken. I refuse. 

Happiness is not for me, because I am different. 

By the time I’ve chased everyone away, all I will be left with is the proof that I was right all along.

I am a monster. 

Not because I was always a monster. 

But because I refused to see myself as anything else.

Word Count: 1678
Written: 2022
Non-Fiction, Flash
Image: stock
More info: this piece of writing is based off of three friends who have struggled deeply to appreciate themselves for who they are for their entire lives

Questionable Content © Jeph Jacques 2023; “More Death Threats”