Self-loathing

Dear reader,

Thank you for not existing, because every word I write here brings out the purest, meanest, dirtiest sense of self-loathing in me you would have possibly imagined.

You would see me rummaging about my deepest and best-hidden secrets, the secrets I hide best not because I fear them, but because they make me ashamed of myself.

I am weak.

I succumb to any conspiracy theory that would make it seem like things are much worse than they actually are.

If a billion people tell me a good thing about you but that green little almost invisible thing in the dark tells me they're wrong, that's one lucky green little almost invisible bastard I'll believe.

Cause that's who I am, OK?

No, not OK.
Never, ever OK.