self-love.
we're all on this treacherous yet beautiful and SO worthwhile journey together.
Goodness. Self-love. What a fluffy, light, almost euphoria-inducing word. Perhaps that’s what it feels like when you achieve it, but for people like me and the rest of the Addict’s Digest crew, the journey to self-love has been rather rocky. As is true for most who struggle with addiction issues, it is the lack of love for ourselves that usually pushes us into the throes of self-destructive behaviour. As a counsellor, my emphasis was on self-love, as I was given a rather concerning look into how teenagers viewed themselves. I viewed them as incredibly strong, intelligent and full of character, why couldn’t they see this for themselves? I suppose I could take my own advice, as my self-love fluctuates depending on how prominent my inner self-critical voice is, telling me that I’m not enough or that I could be doing more, more, more. Reading the pieces on self-love for this week has brought me to tears. I am not on this journey alone. - Tendani, 31.
i learned to hate myself when i was
four months old.
when my father decided that he didn’t want me.
so i thought that meant that no one could want me.
i learned to hate myself when i was
five years old.
when i knocked on my grandfather’s door and
he had a heart attack.
he died in my mothers arms.
i learned to hate myself when i was
ten years old.
when i learned what it meant to be transgender.
and i felt like i’d never be able to fit in.
i learned to hate myself when i was
thirteen years old.
when my best friend gave me a cigarette to try.
i swore i’d never smoke, because it consumed my mom.
i learned to hate myself when i was
fourteen years old.
when i first realized that the relationship with
my mom was unhealthy. and i was unhappy.
i learned to hate myself when i was
fourteen and a half years old.
when i tried weed for the first time.
i spent months trying to chase that feeling.
i learned to hate myself when i was
fourteen and three quarters.
when i tried desperately to take my life.
and my mother didn’t take me seriously.
i learned to hate myself when i was
fifteen years old.
when i went to my first psych ward.
my mother pretended that i just “wanted a vacation.”
i learned to hate myself when i was
fifteen and a half years old.
when my mother wouldn’t stop screaming at me.
when i sliced into my arm because it was all i could do to make it stop.
when i took handfuls of sleeping pills to try make it quiet.
when i couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror.
when i couldn’t leave the house.
i learned what it felt like for the world to hate me when i was
fifteen years and seven months old.
when my mother got sick.
i learned what it felt like for my world to shatter when i was
fifteen years, seven months and three weeks old.
when the phrase “you know, your mother’s been sick for a long time”
was said to me.
when i couldn’t walk straight.
when i couldn’t remember the last time i heard her voice.
when i realized that i didn’t hug her goodbye.
when i realized that night i was supposed to call her.
i was “too busy”
i lost myself to drugs and adrenaline.
i got arrested
i truly hated who i was.
i tried to die.
every now and then i still wish i did.
i found myself in the middle of the bush.
surrounded by strange people with
strange stories.
i learned what it meant to accept
when i was broken
and kicked when i was down.
i learned what it meant to love myself
when despite all the reasons i had to hate myself-
i smiled when the sun rose.
i learned what it meant to be okay
when i galloped up a mountain
on a creature with it’s own mind and own world.
i learned what it meant to love myself when i was
nineteen years old.
when i realized that being myself
drew amazing people to me.
i learned what it meant to love myself when i was
nineteen years old.
when i figured out that the world was not
exactly the way it was portrayed.
i learned what it meant to love myself when i was
nineteen years old.
when i learned what it meant
to truly
unequivocally
and wholly
accept
myself.
dylan, addict, 19.
This piece could focus on beauty in the physical sense, or body image or even social-awkwardness, but the only thing that has truly brought me into self-love and love as a whole is my relationship with Spirit.
As soon the oneness between myself and everything around me and the fact that I have a purpose to serve in this life became clear to me, the only logical step into fulfilling that destiny was to preserve myself. Soul, body, and all. Up until very recently though, this wasn’t my reality.
Just 7 months ago I was carrying baggage of the most crushing weight on my shoulders. Just 7 months ago I was relapsing in self-harm, facing rejection, and watching my dreams, and my life honestly, crumble to pieces right in front of me. I felt helpless.
People from whom I sought approval were only telling me what I could never be. I had been labelled a fuck-up. I didn’t think dying young would matter so much, so I used my soul and body as stomping grounds to test different ways of destroying myself.
That was until I got connected with Spirit and I learned what really lies within me. I had to realise that I’m an abundant and overflowing mass of love and pain and gifts and talent. Understanding the fact that the glorious mountains, trees, lush fields, vast oceans, pure spirited animals and I are made of the same material. Understanding that my existence is the ultimate coincidence.
I’m sorry to rob you of an artfully worded story, but sometimes the real lessons are taught in simple words.
- Zarge, 17.
Self love
The words won't come to me
Thoughts like familiar company
I think I've grown accustomed to
the ragged shores and distant view
When I see myself it's mostly fine
Like a wilted rose in summertime
It's not perfect but somehow sweet
Someone I would love to meet
And on those days it feels more real
It gets harder and harder to appeal
She gets violent when she's sad
And I try my best to understand
I know she's trying, she always tries
In a lot of ways I empathize
Once in a while she really hates me
But at the end of the day she creates me
I'm just happy when she's satisfied
When she feels her egos gratified
But I am hollow and she knows it
She'll never love me and I oppose it
I know there's nothing I can say
To make these feelings go away
But I'll just be there in the mirror
So when she cries I know I'll hear her
- Ashley, 20.
Self love
i was always convinced that my purpose was to share the love i held within me
But not to myself, never to myself, because i’ve drained and squeezed all the love i had within me down to the last drops, a love that never seemed to come back
Ever since i was a child i was taught that punishment came with love or was because of love and this led me to believe that love was supposed to hurt me, break me and destroy me. i did not allow myself to experience gentle love, kind love or soft love but it’s all i wanted to give.
The practice of self love is hard , to learn to accept the things others hate about me to be okay with what i have to offer to do things that help me not tear me apart but to stick the fallen pieces back together because in the end i’m the only one who can love me the way that i love
Jules✨, 15.
persona
life has become a race. i feel as if humanity isn't working as one anymore. we live in a time of fast pace. it's all become about aesthetics and cores.
life is no longer about the trees. humanity has turned this world to cement. and now im on my knees. just wanting to repent.
when did we lose our empathy? the very thing that keeps us human.
we have forgotten the natural cycles of life...
when did love become a construct instead of an emotion? when did sudden rain start causing anger instead of joy? why do we romanticize being utterly broken?
life is no longer about the quiet moments of tranquility. life is no longer about self discovery.
we have created a society focused on "the grind". that has brainwashed us into thinking we can "upgrade" ourselves and our lives as if restarting a computer.
healing isn't a pill you can swallow, it isn't an instant cure.
healing is a journey that has been rendered impossible.
the cause?
life has become a race...
self love isn't about truly accepting who you are anymore. self love has become a façade to avoid vulnerability.
why did this world become so cold?
because we allowed ourselves to be controlled.
we allow societal perception to manipulate our choices. we no longer have our own opinions. we need to stop listening to these voices.
self love is a controversial construct.
we allowed it to become a narcissistic alter ego instead of the discovery of oneself.
we have fallen so far down the rabbit hole that all we see is the void.
who are you? who am i?
you don't have the answer do you?
we don't know ourselves anymore. we consume media like a lifeline. it has become our identity. my life is no longer mine. unless its seen on the blue light screen.
life is no longer about growth, or inner peace. us mere mortals have become infected with greed.
i believe that we live in a fast paced society. one with no room for healing. i hope you can escape that sinking feeling.
i pray that you find yourself again. outside of societies grasp. i pray that you can love yourself again. finally remove the dreadful mask.
i hope you don't get trapped in this race. i hope you can learn to move at your own pace...
Liz, 18.
Self love, or the lack thereof
since i was little, the love around me was shown to be scary, painful and even sometimes violent. the people around me that were supposed to love me would leave me hurt, and broken. so i grew up believing thats what love was supposed to be like. Many times i’ve looked back and wondered why everything i’ve ever loved has claw marks on it, yet i look to myself in the mirror and see a scarless body.
i know now, and i’m not sure whether i should be happy that i’m not broken like the rest or be sad that i’ve never truly loved myself.
Aimee, 15.
"(Self)Love"
i find comfort in taking care of others,
always being seen as a mother figure,
whether its to my brothers or a partner,
Never having experienced what its like to be taken care of,
as i've never received that type of love
always taking care of myself,
When i’m crying alone at night,
i reassure myself that everything will be alright,
when my arms are bleeding,
i bandage it up and begin healing,
when i need to be held,
i hold myself,
and when i’m angry,
i cant help but project that onto me
in some sense,
a love-hate relationship,
toxic,
on one hand,
protecting and defending,
on the other, hurting and resenting
like loving an enemy,
Clashing yet caring,
i don’t like you,
but i still care about you,
when you get sick,
i still make sure you're fed
and taking medicine,
but when you're eating too much,
i'll make sure you feel like you're never enough,
all that food will be left untouched
and if swallowed, i'll make you throw it up
when you're hurt,
i'll hug you til you feel okay,
and if that doesn’t work,
we'll sleep all of it away,
when the noise is too loud,
i'll help you drown it
with music,
when you're overthinking,
i'll make sure you go back to drinking,
i'll add more scars from all the cutting,
i'll ease your mind with smoking,
its just to make it stop for a while,
but isn’t this how mom used to love me as a child?
it’s no surprise not knowing how to love yourself, when all you've known is self destruction
sometimes,
it’s self love when you let go of things you thought you'd never lose,
things that were all you ever wanted,
just for the sake of protecting you from how much it was taking away from you,
i don’t like you.
but i still care,
i just dont know how to yet
- Skye van Wyk, 18.
Nani Misbah is a fantastically talented writer -- I certainly hope that anyone who can write with such dexterity at the age of eighteen will continue creating literature, as they clearly have the gift.
Things I noted:
- evocative and fitting use of imagery -- the whole tale is, in essence, one extended metaphor, which branches out into "submetaphors" appropriately -- this is quite hard to pull off (many older writers try to "force" imagery and metaphors, which rarely works)
- clear, concrete and sensory language -- I liked "sunk his worn hands into the water" (farmers do indeed have "worn hands"), and "his eyes were wider than eyes ought to be".
- stylistically, the sentences are very euphonic and flow nicely (like a babbling stream, hmm...). This is quite hard to do (you basically need to have spent a few years cultivating an "ear" for beautiful language -- some say teenage years are the best time for this). Words and meanings are also blended together well.
- dramatically, the story carries a powerful message, and tells it in a way that "rings true"
One minor point:
- sometimes unnecessarily complicated synonyms are used, that don't have exactly the right meaning, or connotations, for the sentence in question. For example, in "the tale expounded that in the streams’ babbling and jabbering", "expounded" is not quite used correctly. Strictly speaking, a person expounds, a tale or story would *be expounded*. Similarly, "expound" often implies a lecture or classroom lesson... while a story or tale might be "told" or "narrated". "The tale told of how the stream..." might be better.
I wasn't sure if this was worth mentioning here -- but choosing words exactly is a key part of cultivating a unique style, so may be worth paying attention to.
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Anyway, great job! :)
Thanks so much for sharing. I'd love to connect about a storytelling platform I'm working on for recovery stories. Would love to share your story!! If interested, you can shoot me a message at circleofchairssubmissions@gmail.com.