Self-Hatred, and Why I Love It

It’s what keeps me living on the fucking razor’s edge between sanity and ripping my fucking face off. But somehow, it keeps me fighting to get better; raging, kicking and thrashing all the way to the bitter fucking end of madness.

Sorry for the late warning but the word of the day is fuck, or any derivative thereof. I love swearing,  by the way. Sorry again.

I had a wonderful day on Friday. My new psychologist and I have a lot of chemistry. She looks at me like she thinks I’m really smart or something, which confuses the shit out of me. Maybe she was just stunned at how much I can talk. Either way, her name is Amelia and she’s very kind, but for some reason that doesn’t make me uncomfortable the way kindness and compassion always do.

I think for now we’re settling on the diagnosis that I have high-functioning autism (formerly known as Asperger’s Syndrome). With the range of labels and symptoms that I have, high-functioning autism encapsulates the strongest of my issues concisely.

But back to the lovely Amelia: she’s very bright and makes me feel happy. Fucking YAY!!! Someone who doesn’t make me feel like a worthless piece of shit! It seems like a rare thing nowadays. She likes my sketches so I may get to do art therapy, which I’m looking forward to immensely.

So here’s the intriguing part: I’ve come to realize that as close as it brings me to utter madness and suicidal ideation, my raging self-loathing is keeping me alive. I get so self-righteously fucking PISSED THE FUCK OFF at my illness that I need to defeat it. (I refer here to depression/anxiety; I’m proudly autistic because that’s what makes me who I am). And I’m learning that there’s a difference between hating my illness and hating myself; however there are certain annoying grey areas.

1) I also have inattentive-type ADHD, which I’m being treated for and is also a part of me, but the non-stop talkativeness is a fucking pain (and when I’m in a room with my best friend who also has Asperger’s, we’re a complete fucking NIGHTMARE). I’m only socially terrified 99.9% of the time, you see. The rest of the time I just won’t shut the fuck up. Jury’s still out on which is worse.

2) My main issue: I am utterly obsessed with sex. I’ll be the first to admit that I love the cock. And it’s something I’m minorly ashamed of, because of how dirty my mind is. I don’t know why but being that dirty just feels… bad. That’s the  only word I have. I have a screamingly high sex drive, I’m a terrible masochist (and an excellent slave, I promise) and I’m VERY greedy in bed. There is no such thing as too hard, rough, fast, brutal, whatever. Haven’t slept with many people but one has successfully broken me (couldn’t walk for two days, FUCK YEAH!!!). I love waking up to aching joints and finding myself unable to walk. Sex injuries are the BEST.
The popular term for what I experience (and need, in order to stay as close to sane as possible for me) is tantric sexual energy. I literally starve without it.

3) My self-esteem is so low that I’m  uncomfortable with feeling attracted to anyone. I’m so accustomed to being hurt long-term or immediately rejected that it’s hard to mend the wound again. Scarred flesh can only heal so many times. The number of people I’ve been uncontrollably attracted to is extremely small, and only one has known. He’s the only one still in my life now. I lost the last two recently. Dear Ginger Ninja and Egyptian Crime Lord – God forbid you actually do read this – I miss you both terribly; sorry I never had the honesty to mention my uncontrollable lust for you.

Well the Valium has kicked in and murdered my panic attack in the face so now I’m making no sense. Sorry for that too. In fact I don’t know if any of this made any fucking sense at all.



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