I’m allowed to.
That’s all I said to myself today. I really really don’t like myself. But that’s okay. I’m allowed to. It was hard. I made it.
And then my boyfriend finished work and walked into the room looking at me like he couldn’t believe his eyes and he said the beautiful things he says to me and I felt almost okay. And proud, too, because I’d made it almost by myself. Maybe I wouldn’t have been able to accept any of that if I hadn’t spent the whole day telling myself I’m allowed to feel what I feel.
What I’m hoping, is this: That by giving myself permission to hate, by letting go, by stopping the striving towards a love I’m never going to feel, it will cease to matter. That I’ll be able to look in the mirror and see someone ordinary. That I’ll look down at my legs on the bus and not feel that hot surge of panic and fear and anxiety and hate hate hate.
That this is the start of Everything.
God, I hate myself.
I want it to stop. I want it to stop.
Please stop talking to me the way you do. Please look back at me in the mirror tomorrow and say Hello beautiful.