beacon and eggs

i can only wish to see myself the way other people perceive me. it was never a mystery, i've always held that i'm a piece of shit human being.

it's easy to be my own worst critic. i have my entire life's catalogue of failings and trauma to draw my self-hatred from. i was always a disappointment, i was never truly enough, i overdo things, i was at the wrong place and wrong time being the wrong person.

and it feels utterly bad.

like i don't want to be myself anymore, like i wish someone else were living with the same privileges i've been having so they can make something better out of it than i've done, like every day of life is such an existential drudgery and it's astonishingly agonizing to trudge through this timeline. there wasn't a period of my life that i didn't saw the need for a bullet in my brain, or a noose on my neck, or a freefall from forty-four floors.

but there are those that give me hope.

those that look at me and don't see the monster i had been, those that listen to me and don't judge how i turned out, those that speak to me and don't berate my botches.

and for the plenty of times i wanted to die, thankfully there are still those that make me want to live.

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