My affliction gave me a pleasure unspoken of... a feeling that left me wanting more...
Why do so many women hate themselves? What a tragedy...
Sometimes, those vile nightmares still sneak into my bed, roll under my covers... in each breath, my dreams are paralyzed by the scent of hell. Point blank, I used to hate myself.
It was a wicked disease, crawling beneath my skin.
Musk of hurt, disappointment, shame and guilt transmitted from my brain into my soul. Detrimental.
I hated my dark skin. I hated my nappy hair. I hated my fragile body. I hated how I didn't accomplished anything great like my counterparts, and if I did, it was never ever good enough.
But nobody knew. Which made it worse.
Days of suckling on the Devil's venom of self-destruction were woven into my addiction.
In the past, I was a coward. Not to face the world. But to love myself.
...would you believe that I just started truly loving myself?
It's amazing how God loves us when we don't even love ourselves... Now ain't that the truth?
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