I’m going to say some things and it’s going to be uncomfortable but it’s also mostly going to be true, so bear with me.
I try to be a good person, mostly–but I don’t think I like myself very much. So full of resentment. So petty. So callous. And so terrible with dealing with people’s feelings. Some days I think as many as 87 mean thoughts–maybe that number isn’t the most accurate, but I’m sure it’s close enough. And the people never deserve it.
And then I try to rectify it and feel like an absolute fake bitxh. Like in high school, when a few people said that’s what I was. That the politeness was a facade and I only did anything I did so people would like me. And it was easy enough to laugh it off in front of them, but it has always stayed.
So in college, I thought maybe I’d adjust. Maybe a little more sarcasm and a little less apologizing and then maybe people would think I’m more genuine. For someone who claims to not care what anybody thinks of her, I sure know to agonize over every little thing that has ever been said.
It’s hard to tell people I’m being myself when I’m not very sure what that is to begin with.
I think I surround myself with people I’ve convinced I’m good so I can coast off of their adoration and never have to actually become good.
I complain too much. Sometimes when someone does something shitty, I don’t confront them about it, and instead vilify them to someone else. Which isn’t right. I shouldn’t be talking about them behind their back, but I do it anyway. Sometimes I think nobody really thinks I’m a good person.
I’m constantly messing up. I get impatient with my younger siblings when all they want to do is spend a little time–and I can hear myself being an absolutely ugly goblin to them but I can’t seem to help myself, some sick pleasure off of furthering my misery (like, yes you deserve this; you’re making them feel terrible and you should suffer with them)
When I was in the 5th grade, me and my cousin bullied a classmate of hers–and at the time I thought it was okay because she used to bully my younger siblings and was always mean and maybe she deserved it. But she went home and cried and her mum called my mum and said she was devastated and I realized I’d forgotten she was human too. And still only a kid too, like all of us–and I’d never disliked myself as much as I did then.
It’s hard for me to admit to doing that then because it is such a vile thing. So hurtful, and for no reason. I try not to be that person ever again, even momentarily.
And sometimes I think I fail. Because however much you think someone has wronged you, you are never righteous in your maliciousness.
I don’t know if this reads like a 3rd grade moral ethics lesson.
Anyway, there is no satisfying conclusion, I’d just been feeling like a terrible, bad person for a while. And I’d like to not be that.