It has been a long time since I have written anything but poetry and terrible papers for school. I want to apologize because I am going to tell you that I will be honest but the truth is I am lying. I will try to be honest. It will hurt. I will lie. Today in a conversation with a friend (lie) I was forced to confront the monster under my bed. The faceless phantom and the silent nightmares. I was forced to confront the reality of how I feel. Simply put, I loathe myself. I detest my very being and hate myself so thoroughly that I would destroy myself if I could. Funny thing is, I am in love with myself. I am an arrogant, narcissistic, and overall terrible person. Don’t expect this to end on a hopeful note. Or to have some deep meaning. This is my way of coping with the pain that we all suffer. Some people have drugs and drink to dull the pain. Others have love and purpose to let them forget. I have people. I drown myself in the orgy of activity. The ebb and flow of conversations and the transfer of energy and emotion. Like some leech or vampire, I smile and make small talk while bathing in the life. That’s how I survive. But sometimes, the darkness descends and I come face to face with the truth I have hidden in my heart and I am afraid. I hate myself. Sometimes. I am alone. More often than not. I am lonely. Almost always. It’s funny. Pressing black keys with white symbols in a dark room lit up by the fluorescent light of a laptop monitor can somehow alleviate the pressure in my chest. I can breath enough to trust myself to sleep. I am not depressed. Or especially troubled. Trust me, I know. I have spoken with people suffering from genuine depression and that is a beast from another plane. I am simply a mental hypochondriac with the desire to feel. An empathetic sociopath. I am simply a lonely boy/man sitting in a dark room tapping away at salvation. Each word another breath of air entering my lungs. I hate myself. I love myself. I exist. I am alive. And for today. That is enough.