Just. Why?

I try to be enough.

I really do.

But I also know I will never be.

Oh, I love triggering myself to past trauma and purposely digging myself deeper into a mental black hole that inevitably will end in a terrible relapse and take days to recover from.

i’m not enough for anyone. i can’t do anything right.

I hate my face.

I hate my eyes.

I hate my ears.

I hate my nose.

I hate my mouth.

I hate my lips.

I hate my hair.

I hate my neck.

I hate my shoulders.

I hate my chest.

I hate my back.

I hate my belly.

I hate my hips.

I hate my arms.

I hate my hands.

I hate my fingers.

I hate my skin.

I hate my crotch.

I hate my thighs.

I hate my knees.

I hate my legs.

I hate my feet.

I hate my ankles.

I hate my toes.

I hate my smile.

I hate my laugh.

I hate my scars.

I hate my stretch marks.

I hate my bones.

I hate my body hair.

I hate my voice.

I hate my mind.

I hate my thoughts.

I hate my dysphoria.

I hate my depression.

I hate my anxiety.

I hate my eating disorders.

I hate my trauma.

I hate my nightmares.

I hate my past.

I hate my memories.

I hate my childhood.

I hate my adolescence.

I hate my adulthood.

I hate my existence.

I hate my life.