The Awesome Evolution of Self-Love To Self-Hate

What’s up reader! Here’s a short story about this thing you’d call my life. Sit back and get a head ache.

I was 22. My heart was shitty. I thought I would die on a few occasions. I didn’t. I changed some life style things and it all worked out.

Then I had a revelation of some sort. An insight about life. It made me very high. It hit the spot. I spent the next several months feeling high, thinking that I’d become a saint of some sort. Whenever I tuned in on my breathing, letting thoughts seize; bliss came over me. I was healthy, happy, lunatic.

I loosely considered how I could make a career as a cult-leader/guru or something like that. Sit in a chair with drunk eyes and talk mystical shit. Would have been a blast, huh?

I discovered in this process, somewhere along the way, that self-love was like really important for this health-thing to really gain some air and get flying. So I started looking at myself in the mirror, eye contact with my self, speaking: “I love you! I love myself” I would say.

As I did this, over the course of some weeks, I went from frowning upon myself, feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable, to believing it and loving it; saying it with more and more conviction. A flush of good feelings and a good energy came over me that was absolutely necessary, at the time being.

(You can easily take that as a good piece of advice for yourself, if your life lacks in any of the areas of contentment, happiness, acceptance and joy.)

But anyway, short story remaining short; I now have come to a point where I hate my self. And as I write this (or say it to myself), I am equally flushed with a feeling of right-ness; of gratitude; of awe and yes-ness! 

Why this nonsense?

Well, because I am on the path of destroying ego; ego must kill ego. And I happen to be as far along as it takes to see that self is not…well, self. It’s a scheme. A shitty one.

Ego/self is essentially as shitty as you would imagine it to be if you one day realized that you were actually in a Platonic cave, looking down on your ankles and wrists, seeing that they were chained up; you’ve never even realized that you were a prisoner but now it all comes to you. You’d feel as shitty as I do about my self.

But you’d also feel extremely excited and grateful for having seen it. Now you can actually bust out of those shackles keeping you chained down.


And how does that leave the phrase “I love my self”? Thing is, when I say it to myself now, I just hear the words, or rather the mumble sounds, and I can’t make sense of it.

What self to love?

What I to do it?

And what’s up with this love thing anyway? Is there something great about it that I’m missing? Isn’t it also just a movie, playing on the screen inside of the Platonic cave which I’ve spent my entire life in without knowing it? Screw love. Come what may, it’s all the same.


Short story coming to an end: I now hate myself and I love it.

After years of struggling with these shackles, and essentially getting back into full-fledged imprisonment repeatedly, I again find myself being aware of it. And boy do I want out! Enough is enough.

Ego must destroy ego. What else can?

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