Self-loathing

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This keeps appearing in the corner or my mind, and I can't think why. I feel like I absolutely despise myself and get a huge urge to self-harm (haven't done it at all lately).

I distract myself with reading, writing, music, anything and it works to an extent. I know my self-hatred is irrational, but there it is.

Can anyone relate?

I can relate. I engage in emotional eating/binges. Ideally I would like to commit suicide. You are somewhat lucky that your self hatred is irrational as mine is very rational. It is not exactly that I hate myself because I used to REALLY like myself and I am essentially the same I just know how much I'm disliked, how hard it is for people to "like" me, tired of being lonely, tired of being mistreated and tired of feeling afraid/panicky/alarmed. It's that I loath my reality, I am sick and tired of not being happy, I am sick and tired of not being "good enough" and I can't just be normal so with all of this it feels as if I hate myself.

I'm in a similar place. I'm sick and tired of not being good enough and failing again and again and again at social interactions. I always picked myself up and said things would go better next time or I will find something that fits my strengths. But I feel like things will never get better. I will always hate my life and humiliate myself with my pathetic failures at interacting with people. My old coping mechanisms are not working anymore, and I don't know what to do. I want to go on leave from my job, because its just way too much for me. But I can't admit that kind of failure or decrease my income since I can't pay my bills as it is. When will life stop sucking so much?

I've been wondering lately whether self-loathing is borne out of guilt - I personally don't seem to be afflicted by that, as I recognize that most of my problems were caused by others (namely, parents) and as such I'm mostly outwardly angry.

You could try the blame game for a bit - many people (myself included at times, although I try to be rational about it) blame too much stuff on others, and as such are at an opposite position to you all, but if you try this out for a bit (e.g. instead of "oh, I can't socialize, I always fail" you'd think "oh, these people are so trivial, they're almost ret*d - I can't possibly socialize with them") you might have a more realistic, centrist perspective (both polar extremities may be irrational, however - I've been angry and blaming people for so long recently I could almost not accept that arriving late at a dentist's appointment couldn't have been anyone's fault but myself).

I figure it's because I was abused as a child. I've had PTSD symptoms for a long time. It has affected my adult relationships. I had flashbacks when I was having sex during my first relationship, which was the first time it all came back to me. It was the first time it all seemed very real. Now I'm writing a semi-autobiographical novel for young adults and it's coming back very vividly again. I feel like I have to write this novel to exorcise my demons. I was bored at work, so I was imagining how some of the scenes later in the book will go (like the virginity-loss scene). I burst out crying at my computer. I normally feel so numb about it, or I don't know how I feel.

Sometimes I feel intense anger that has no direction.

I've had this feeling for a long time that my life was going to be a limited in terms of normal human relationships because I felt like there was something inextricably wrong with me. I got to hating myself because of this thing I felt was inextricably wrong with me. I thought it for years that it was because I was autistic, or mentally ill, or queer, or just really f*****g weird. I got bullied in school because of those things, and it was very tough being neurologically different, but the real thing that's been eating away at me all those years is what my cousin did to me.

I mean, I guess one thing you can say is that I'm a survivor, even if I'm not especially tough. I guess that's one thing to like about myself. I'm still here, muddafuggers, etc.