Back from the breach...

It's been a while since I last made an entry. The only blessed constants are that my outlook on existence has not changed, and my number of readers still only includes myself. Guess there just isn't much motivation to pose my thoughts just for myself to read. But in the same breath I truly care little if anyone ever sees these. It won't change anything. If nothing else it eases my mind, and that's really what all of this is about: me and my failings. Mayhaps at some point in my timeline I will finally meet someone worth my time, but so far I have nothing but scars to show for it. And oh how my scars tell a story. For what it's all worth, this whole stupid and useless experiment was to see if elaborating my pain. I opened my heart, and as much as I'd love to blame her, it's destruction was wrought by my own hand. Since that time it has shriveled and died, leaving a void. I've filled that void with other women, to no avail. Strong liquor, much the same. And steadily my guilt grows. With every choice I know is wrong for me, the seething tar of self loathing expands and roils. All I've left myself is my guilt, and my hate. My hate expands to all things. But most of all, my hate consumes me. My guilt over things beyond my control is irrational, and everything I know tells me so. But all of that logic just breeds more hatred. And that hatred just feeds itself into my every action. Even my successes are just an extension of my hate towards myself. I hate myself SO MUCH that I won't allow my pity and grief to come to light. With every windfall, every new connection my desire for exile and misery grows. I laugh in my mind's eye because only I know how much I deserve to fail. The world sees me as sweet, generous, and magnanimous, and all I see is the loathsome monstrosity that my failings have made of me. The worst part of all of this: no one believes me.