The fact of the matter is: I like being a bitch. I like being mean. I like my superiority complex and my condescension. My mother saw that mean streak in me, and she tried to moralize it out of me. But that didn’t work. I’m a shit talker. A shit starter. An instigator. An asshole. A gleeful spectator at the sideshow of human misery. No amount of ‘loving God’ is going to change the fact that I am mean to the people I love, and I enjoy it. I like demoralizing the people around me. Putting them down. Watching them realize that they are pieces of shit. I don’t know why I enjoy this so much, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop. Perhaps there’s a better way to direct this energy than sabotaging my relationships and undermining the self esteem and confidence of the people I love. I try to pour this wrath into my work, into my writing, into myself. But it always comes back to the people I love. It always comes back to me. Perhaps it’s the self loathing bursting beyond my limitations of myself. Everyone is pathetic. You are all fucking pathetic. Just as I am pathetic, and we must look at how pathetic we are. Up close and personal. We must feel together what fucking losers we are. In this, we will be liberated to be the worst versions of ourselves, vociferously and unrepentantly.