does self-hatred ever go away? and the forgiveness of all you could've had and become but weren't able to (trauma and neurodivergence).

 

To look back and see everything that you've missed out on because of all you've been through and because of the ways in which this had wired you is unrelentlessly heart-crushing. The more you go back, the deeper you sink into it. All of the missed out opportunities, connections, all the ways in which you've fallen behind your peers and humanity altogether. All that you can do is to look back, stare at what you were like, stare at your wounds, your pain, your experiences, your ways in which you chose to deal with them, and mainly... stare back at a self that did not know why everything was happening in those ways. A self that yearned for compassion, that yearned for closure, for warmth and safety, for an understanding of why you are the way you are. ,,I'm not a violent dog, I don't know why I bite" becomes a thought that circles inside of your head, over and over, on a continuous loop. You wish to verbalize it, give it life. You wish to make the ones around you understand. But you cannot, for they do not care. Their care is only to point at you, to point at all that makes you different, all that creates the holes in your body (that are in fact invisible to anyone but you).

  How could I make them understand me? How could I make them see me as I am, not as I am triggered to be, not as I am shaped to be by all that surrounds me?

  Wonders and wonders, thoughts that continuously go through your head as you're once again cornered out, punished, neglected, laughed at and belittled, just because you function differently. 

  The rage, envy, and shame of one simple thing: childhood. The rage when you think of all you went through and how, indeed, it was not normal, it shouldn't have happened, and it pretty much destroyed your chances at easier, more normal beginnings of adulthood. The envy when you see everyone that had the chance of growing up in more stable environments or just themselves being more stable overall, so that they can now function as more or less decent adults. The shame of you being you, of being built the way you're built now. The shame of what you likely already carried since the day of your birth becoming more and more debilitating. The shame of you developing diverse and complex trauma responses that are just as debilitating as the ones you more likely than not always had in your breathtakingly heavy backpack. Everything, put together, tied up with a pretty bowtie, creating the being that you are today. The being that struggles so much even after lots of work to just exist. The being that is too tired, too emotional, too forgetful, the one that hasn't invested in actual skills as a child and now just floats as a lost puppy in a world in which everyone is seemingly finding their own homes. 

  And how could you not feel this deep self-hatred that was implemented inside of you for such a long time? How could it not rise, again and again, when you see how hard simple things are, even the ones such as existing? How could you heal it, make it go away, make it be okay? How could you?

  It feels so impossible to not go back to such methods. It feels impossible to not root these poisonous roots even deeper into your veins that pulsate the sad reality that you are, in fact, still here, still alive. And as sad as it is, it is also brave. A brave thing to do. To be alive, even after all of this. To keep on fighting, to keep on going, even when you still feel like it is pointless. To keep on going, even when each route in front of you seems to be slowly closing. To keep on searching, even if you haven't found anything to genuinely hang onto in a long time. And, the most important thing: to keep on believing that it will eventually get better, when the world around you wishes to prove you wrong.

  For yes, it does get better for others. Yes, there are many cases of people rising from their ashes and becoming such brilliant phoenix-like beings, that it keeps you in awe. It does happen, yes. But does it happen to you? How many affirmations can you swallow down your throat 'till you end up being sick and just throw them all up, with a final ''I cannot believe, for that is not me, for that never was me and it can never become me?'' How much 'till that deeply rooted self-hatred crawls out of your throat instead and it shouts ''Enough is enough!"? 

  I do wish to forgive myself. And I do work on that, more often than not. And still, as it is something that is deeply in my core, it ain't easy, at all. People think that it is. People do expect it that once you don't show it, it is gone (and oh, once you show it again, you should see the shock on their face; it is valid though, for I once believed that if it is gone, it won't come back again). People believe that and somehow, I do too. I believe that it is easy sometimes, but it is not. It goes away, maybe for a longer time now than before, but then it comes back, again and again, to buzz you 'till you're finally ready to face it head-first and not fight it, not put it aside, but ACCEPT IT, DON'T BLAME IT UPON YOURSELF and LET. IT. GO. 

  For that is. in my opinion, the hardest process and the hardest combo you have to make in order to actually let go of something. You can accept that it happened, but still blame yourself for it and not let it go. You can stop blaming yourself for it, but still be in complete denial that it happened the way it happened, and of course not let it go. And then, the worst of all, you just let it go, which is basically (in my earnest opinion) just putting it away. You cannot actually let go of something (once again, in my earnest opinion), 'till you actually do these things. 

  And I do guess that putting things down this way is more of a self-reminder than a call-out into the world. It is more of a grounding into the reality I go through right now. A reminder that no, the war, the journey, the work I have to put in is still not over. But I have to keep on going, I have to keep on fighting. I have to keep on putting in the work, for if not me, then who? For if not for me, then for who? For if I don't do this, who else will suffer the full-on consequences of it but me?

  It is hard. So, so hard. Giving up is always easier. But I am already so far ahead than where I used to be. I can look back and see the differences. And even if it hurts that I have become the way I have become because of all that happened and because of how I approached them and the way in which I was born, I am still doing some things that many wouldn't. And that is brave. 

  And if anyone ever gets to read this as well, it goes out for you as well. No matter where you are right now, it is never too late to start getting better. It is hard, it is painful, it can be full of agony and despair. But in the end, it can slowly, but surely, bring you somewhere you need to be at. 

  So, to me and to whoever reads this and relates: let's try our best to heal whatever lies inside of us. Heal wounds, that we may or may not have caused upon ourselves. Heal perceptions we created in order to make sense of whatever was happening to us. Understand ourselves, accept ourselves and things that happened to us, and let them go. We can do it. Even if it takes years, we can do it. Even if we fall back, as long as we continue moving forward, we can do it.

 WE. CAN. DO. IT.