what I really feel

Self-loathing so deep and intense it may as well be an entire autonomous creature that I am trying to carry around, nonchalantly, hoping no one will notice the piggy backing beast. It whispers in my ear, breathing its putrid filth like slime on my flesh.

I know in an intellectual way that this is not real; not truly who and what I am; not how I really feel about my life and myself and my surroundings. 

Sometimes this disease is harder to live with than others. 

I know that “this too shall pass”…. But it’s getting harder to deal with while it’s here. Especially knowing that even if… no when!! it passes, it will just be coming back. Like the slap bet with no limits. I spend my life waiting for the next slap; trying to dodge the next slap; anticipating the next slap; planning my day around my crutches for avoiding the next slap. Waiting for the next time this monster will be there, dripping its venom in my mind. 

The shame of it is almost overwhelming some days. Again, I know intellectually that there is no shame in having a disease, but I cannot help but see it as a flaw that must at all costs be hidden from the world. It is my burden alone to bear. No one should see it, this ugly troll baby I carry with me, that I haven’t the courage to drop in a dumpster where it belongs.

I struggle to even accept the honest affection offered by my mate. He has no idea that when he touches me and I cringe, it's not a reflection of how I feel about him, but how I feel about me. So I force myself to stand there and take what he offers out of kindness and love, hating myself for feeling like this, as I smile through the saw dust flavored tears in my mouth.