Self Loathing

I hate that I am awkward around humans
Regardless of my closeness to members of the group
I hate that I am alone even with the outsiders
I hate that I don't know how to act around people
Often that is interpreted as being rude
I need you to know I am sorry for that

I hate that I am the result of my choices
I refuse to blame others even when I ought
The weight of that self-inflicted burden is soul crushing
I resent my past self furiously
Almost as it were a separate entity
I hold my future self to a standard I know I cannot reach
All so the cycle of guilt will continue

I look back on my failures with blissful disgust
I purposefully discredit my strengths
The only times in my life that I have experienced schadenfreude
Have been at my own expense
I have earned everything that befalls me
Except the good stuff

I hate that I feel guilty for feeling depressed
I feel guilty for feeling guilty
And worse for dragging others into my mess
If I can't solve my problems on my own
I end up with what I deserve
I guess

I long for sincerity in my life
And from the world at large
But I make jokes at the expenses of whatever I can reach
Just to avoid real connection
I hate that I don't care about anything
For fear of being taken seriously I shroud myself in humor and mystery

I hate the knowledge of my finiteness
I realize that I am undeserving of immortality
Not due to some misguided sense of sinfulness
But because my proclivity for laziness
I hate that I welcome my death
In that I will be free of this struggle for meaning
Chasing moving goal posts
Desperately groping for something that I don't believe exists
At least, not in some objective sense