Just a bit of how I feel

I am a despicable being, a small creature, a vermin overflowing with jealousy, envy, hatred, and misery. At least, that's how I perceive myself. I am nothing more than a fragile, inept, and incompetent mind in a weak, scrawny, and sickly body. I am nothing more than a wreck, a talentless vermin, even though I'm told I possess it; I am incapable of seeing the virtue within myself. I feel lost, surrounded by a black haze. I can see nothing beyond it, only that diminished specter whispering in my ear, tormenting me, and reminding me of misery after misery born of hatred, and that specter is myself.

Perhaps I'm incapable of seeing virtue in myself because such a thing simply doesn't exist. I only feel like myself when my unhappiness is unbearable, when the weight of daily life gnaws at me. Perhaps that's all I am, and perhaps that's also all I have to offer. I want to disappear, I want my consciousness to vanish, I can't bear the condemnation of existence.

But even though life is torture for me, I can't help but try to admire the beautiful things it contains. Perhaps that's all I have left to do amidst so much despair: admire, love. Love as much as I can, and love as many other things as I can, even though loving myself is impossible for me. 

It's ridiculous. What I'm saying is nothing more than a barrage of nonsense and absurdities, that's all it is. Just by the way I talk, one would think I've been the victim of misfortune after misfortune in my life, but the truth is, perhaps I haven't suffered half as much as I should. I simply hate myself; that's how the whole ordeal could be summed up. 

The contempt I feel for myself far surpasses any existing rational reality. Yes, absolutely, I haven't suffered even a quarter of what I should have suffered to have the right to see myself and life with such bitterness, but the pain is real, and it's there as if it were grafted directly onto my soul. I carry it in my veins like poison, imprisoning me like a chain, and in my chest, clinging like a stake, and it feels as if it's been there my whole life. I haven't suffered, but I do suffer, and sometimes I think what I feel is nonsense, exaggeration, and I feel even more guilty for not enjoying the gift of life.