Self-loathing

Sitting there one night
I decided to eat everything in sight
I hated myself long before this
So I decided to fill myself literally with shit

It felt good to fuck myself up
And so it became a habit that stuck
A slow painful death was what I deserved
According to the self-talk that I constantly heard

I wondered if I might bring on a heart attack
And that this would be a blessing in fact
No desire to live, hope draining as if in a sieve
I had nothing left to give

So consume I did, to excess, over and over
I became adept at being a self-loather
Hurting myself was better than being hurt by another
As that hurt was too painful from which to recover

Claire

Amateur poet (33f) who has an interest specifically in mental health, music and cooking. Looking to connect with and resonate with others who experience difficulties in life due to mental illness and difficult life circumstances, through poetry.

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