I was scared of when I'd begin experiencing this feeling again, because I know how destructive it is, both inside of me and outwardly to anyone I'm close to. I'm disappointed to find myself still so deeply, painfully insecure, and so quick to allow myself to feel hurt; it almost feels good, befitting to the life I have known previously, validating to the self-loathing and bleak individual I suppose I have accepted myself to be. I believed this part of me was slowly mending; after all, I am quite conscious of these unwarranted feelings and the fact that I need to put an end to them, but the physicality of it is still there, the pit of my stomach feeling empty, sunken and heavy. How can you deny that a feeling is real or purposeful when your body reacts to it and brings you that physical pain? I can only keep trying to realize how falsely construed this is in my own head, the fault of a continuous lack of self-esteem that I cannot shake. It's unnerving, to be so delicate and unhinged. I fear that I will ruin everything because I can't accept one small fragment of myself, or believe that I'd pose anything worthy of love or desire when compared with another, any other.
Current Location: room
Current Mood: gloomy