Seeking from her the love that is mine to give myself
I seek from you
What was mine
The gift had my name on it
But I could not accept it
I offer it to you
And I plead you
To give it back to me
Tell me I am worthy
Argue with me
The answer is simple, it is self-loathing. I do not feel like I am worthy of love. I seek the permission of others to give it to myself. The mistake was accepting their opinion in the first place. The mistake was believing I was ever not worthy.
But that is interpersonal love, is it not? We offer our hearts to others, and it is theirs to do what they wish with. And they are at liberty to infect us with their own diseases.
The point is — I hate myself. What does it mean to hate oneself?
Well, what is hate?
Hate, is rejection.
Love is union, and hate is rejected union. Hate is separation — love is conjunction.
We can color this however else we’d like, with many different circumstances and situations, but this is the basic formula amongst each of them.
So, then, what does it mean to hate oneself?
It means you, yourself, are fragmented into two. Broken. A piece of yourself asks for love, asks for union, but you are not willing to give it. Internal union is rejected.
You hate another aspect of yourself, for whatever reason. Maybe you fear it. Maybe it got you into trouble in the past. Maybe it feels too deeply. Maybe feeling itself is dangerous.
Maybe the others hated it. Maybe they ridiculed it. And that hurt, didn’t it? And you don’t like being hurt. So, you joined them. Rather than facing the pain of external schism, you let the disease in. Now you’re forever corrupted, mangled, cut in two, because the fear of being an outcast, outweighed the natural love you had for yourself.
So you cast this side of yourself into the corner. They sit there, head in their knees, in the shadows.
Every now and then, they come back out, asking for reconciliation.
But the memory of what caused the schism in the first place keeps replaying. The fear hijacks your soul. You shout at them angrily, point your finger, spit flying, and get them back to the corner where they belong.
But the cycle does not end. Every time you bark them back into the corner, they get stronger. More persistent. They start to get angry too, and fight back.
How desperately are you willing to fight? Are you willing to die on this hill? Most do.
Maybe sometimes, the other side wins. They get control back. And all of the pain they were forced to endure gushes out uncontrollably. Maybe that’s what insanity looks like.
How long will you go on like this? When will you learn to love yourself again?
Is there a cure for this disease? Can the crack be mended?
Can the schism be closed, can the tear be sewed?