Self-loathing is something I do best. It never ends. I have knots in my stomach, bricks on my chest, a lump in my throat. I’m anxious and depressed at the same time. I try to be positive. I read articles about how to get myself out of this. But I can’t. It consumes me; it takes control, and no matter how hard I try to steer this boat, it sinks.
My self-talk is negative. Always. If I talked to other people the way I talk to myself, I’d have no friends. And it’s not even intentional. The thoughts just come, and come, and never stop. Not until I’m out of the low.