So you think you don't like me?

A lot of people don't like me. This isn't some sort of depressive nonsense where I am being self-pitying or wanting sympathy, there really are a lot of people who don't like me. Some might even hate me, I don't know. All of these people could make up one long line, but none of them would be at the front. None of their dislike, hatred or even loathing could come close to the person at the head of the line.... me.

I hate myself. I don't just feel down about myself, it's not just a lack of self-worth, I actually do hate myself. With every single good thought I have about myself there is ALWAYS one that follows which tells me why the good thought I had was wrong. But it doesn't just stop there, it tells me why I am such an absolute cunt for even thinking the good thought in the first place.

Some people legitimately don't like me because of the things I say, sometimes I go "too far". This is usually because I am trying to get someone else or another group of people to like me, the opposites of the people who now don't like me.

Do you see what is going on here? I spend so much time wondering what other people are thinking about me. This shows a clear case of low self-worth in that I have to get it from others. But the stupid thing is that I am always thinking that other people are thinking about me, this is narcissism of the highest degree and one of the ironic things about mental health issues, you have polar opposites seemingly living together side by side in your head.

The really crappy thing is that I know that I'm being all of these things and that means that I get to hate myself even more because even though I know what they all are I can't stop them. There's one poor woman on Twitter (you know who you are) who, despite her experience in mental health, can't figure out what I believe about loads of stuff. The problem is, neither can I.

The truth of the matter is that I was conditioned into being this way. I was brought up in a world where up was down, black was white, day was night and there were no borders. A world of abuse. I actually didn't even know the word "borders" meant anything to do with emotions or physicality until I was in my 30s and my therapist explained it to me. Part of me finds that hilarious, party of me finds it sad and, rightly, blames my parents on it but of course another part of me hates myself for it because somehow I "should" have known it. And it's no one but my own fault that I didn't.

This is just a small part of what it's like in the mind of someone mentally ill. There is no sense, it is a jumble of everything and yet nothing all at the same time.

Basically it is the mind of a child. Because the people who were supposed to mold me as a child into an adult made me into something else completely, something that makes no sense. And then in my 30s I had to go back to being a child so I could learn everything again properly. Without abuse.