I had thought I was beyond the worst phase of self-hatred. Now I see that I am not.
I was at another live meeting yesterday, this one a good one (though, again, I still cannot find a live sponsor). At the meeting I shared how little progress I had made in the program. While I attend meetings regularly I still have not selected a home group. I do not have a sponsor and seldom call anyone. I read literature, but according to some not enough. My food plan is still vague and has been called overly strict. Without a sponsor, I do not feel confident of working the steps. Prayer still strikes me as something that has failed me many times before, and the slogans seem only to tell me how I have failed.
The thought is rising that I am just a lazy, stubborn, greedy bastard who has consistently refused to take action to solve his problems. Why haven't I found a sponsor yet? Why don't I read the literature more? Why am I half-heartedly squeezing together an overly generous food plan and then not even keeping it? Why don't I pray or recite slogans? Because I am a faithless, self-willed, egregious, obnoxious pig who shows no sign of pulling out of food addiction.
My contempt and dislike for myself is growing. I have less and less patience, and no pity, for the depression and despair I undergo. More and more I am regarding these feelings as richly deserved, or at least the sign of a stubborn, selfish, and miserly beast.
So what if I had a miserable childhood? Millions of people have and they are still leading useful lives. I was not abused physically, or sexually; what right do I have to keep wallowing in these feelings after mere emotional abuse? I am beginning to believe that all this is a sign of selfishness, or evil; no truly just person should ever be discontented for more than a short time, not without suffering worse than anything I've experienced.
It isn't right for me to overeat when even in my city there are thousands lining up at food banks. In the Third World hundreds of millions live on inadequate diets. Thousands of children die daily from malnutrition. And I? I eat piggishly, like a greedy, selfish maniac, in a world scarred by famines and food shortages. I am truly a despicable person, a fat, snivelling hypocrite.
I even view suicide to a considerable degree as just punishment. Some might mourn if I were to go, but would the world really be worse off? Hardly. There would just be one less worthless, greedy loaf who has contributed nothing to the world except to make others miserable. I have cut my family out of my life and have no friends or lover. That last is surely the sign of an undesirable, unlovable, mockery of a human being.
I am returning to the belief that I am basically a bad, unworthy person, and that no one would love me as I am. To believe otherwise is self-delusion. My ugliness, both on the inside and outside, is too great. Even on this loop I have hidden the sick fact that I am also a sex addict; a depraved, maniacal pervert. (In deference to the fact that most of the people on this loop are women, I shall not go into the disgusting details of this, except to say I have at least committed no criminal offences.)
How could I best commit suicide? There's throwing myself in front of a car, or subway train, but that would be a further act of selfishness; the driver of the car or train would have nightmares for years. Jumping off the balcony sounds better; in fact the idea of my body crushed like an insect on the pavement below sounds very appealing, even fitting. Probably I won't do it though; that would be the easy way out. I deserve worse. Maybe an ax murderer should chop off my hideous potbelly. Now there would be something.
What about a Higher Power? I can't believe such an entity, if it exists, could possibly be interested in a rotter like me. I would have no respect for it if it did, for that would show a wrong-headed tolerance of evil. Any God that would forgive me is not worthy of worship, in my opinion.
Lately I have been in touch with my "inner child". I find him a whining, conceited, spoiled brat who likes to spend his time killing insects, when he is not pigging out. He well deserves a good wallop on the bottom, or a smack in the face. I have no kindness or tolerance left for his laziness and excuses. I want him dead for what he's done, or at least whipped and beaten badly.
Why I am bursting out with self-hatred all of a sudden? Perhaps because I have been repressing it for the past several weeks. There is no point in denying the savagery, viciousness, and raw, passionate rage I feel at myself. Besides, is it really wrong? Self-love is for those who deserve it, and I don't deserve it.
I shall stop here before I ruin everyone's day. I am sorry if anyone is offended, but this is how I feel. Actually I feel even more savage and enraged, but I have tried to keep it within the confines of acceptable English in this posting.
Oasis, Aug. 16, 1996.