I don’t really like myself, you know?

I really am pathetic you know.

The murky sense of self loathing for which is deep inside just keeps growing.

I know the reason for it.

No nobel act of selfless good or martyrdom, it’s entirely based on self preservation because of what would happen, well, at least the fear of it.

Knowing the depths of your own depravity and what you’re capable of isn;t something I’d wish on anyone because while knowing yourself is meant to be something to aspire towards, people often only ever talk about it int he sense of good, they forget that we’re made up of many things, some of which are better left undisturbed.

One day, standing in front of me with rage & hurt in their eyes I will know true suffering.

A burden that is my accepted choice because of my actions, words will not account for anything in the end, yet if any more of that pain can be taken or laid on to me than it’s welcome.

Nothing will ever make up for this transgression, this abandonment.

A future I never wanted for myself due to my own fractured past, forced upon me because of my own ignorance and trust in people and the faith that they’re inherently good.

What a young fool I was.

Fool indeed.

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