Back down south

I worry about stupid things, like the girl I know at the chemist noticing what prescription I'm getting filled, or how I'm going to get very thin in a very short amount of time. I feel sick with guilt from the moment I wake up and decide to power-walk instead of sprint to the last drink of spirits at 2am that I can force down my throat into the searing pit of calories and fat and hate that bubbles inside of me. 

I know I'm right in believing that no one can ever hate someone as much or as powerfully as they are capable of hating themselves. 

Which is precisely why we need to love each other like we so desperately want to love ourselves. It's easier to love others than it is to love ourselves, I've found; the people I love are so beautiful, when I'm stroking the hair out of their eyes or holding their drinks while I watch them fumble for something in their bags. Somehow they are more delicate than I am, more graceful, more precious, more valuable - it's not just easy to love them, it's impossible not to.

I'm not a perfect person, actually I hate myself - but that's my business and I'm working on it. I'm proud of the love my body can give to others, despite the hatred handicap I've given it.

~+~+~+~+~

Here's a really nice but sad picture of a rabbit in a coffin. 

xx