Partially. I think it's more disgust than hatred. I actually do deserve it, though (I suspect that I have BPD,
and you know what we're like), and whenever I try to worm my way out of it it comes back. In fact, if I ever became fully aware of how disgusting I am, I think I'd have no choice. I would be morally obligated to do it. I'm guilt ridden as hell and it would be a great relief to throw it all away, because I don't think it really disappears, otherwise. Not sure if it's worth also throwing everything else away, though, so I'm still on the fence even though it's a thought that I'm constantly preoccupied with. I try to tell myself that there are some good things in me, or at least the potential for good things, but when you do the math, it doesn't add up, and although there may have been a time where this self-disgust/hatred was a result of a warped perspective, I don't think it is anymore. I can sit here and blame all the factors in my life as much as I want, get all defensive and whatnot (where others seem to have the opposite problem- accepting criticism too readily and taking it to heart, or making negative assumptions about themselves, when it's clearly obvious to anyone on the outside that they're decent people), "but I used to be a sweet kid! THEY did this to me!", "it's not like I wanted to be messed up! I'd love to not be!", etc., and they may even be partially true, but it doesn't matter, and no one cares, because that stuff happens to everyone, most don't develop asshole complexes, and life goes on
.
So it's a question of assessing what's worthwhile, and what's not, and what damage I'm doing, and things like that. And of course, I'm more fearful of death, and whatever judgment might occur, because of it.
