Beautiful things are good, ugly things are not. I know this. This is my creed.
The problem with this is that I am so terrifically ugly, within and without.
Liar, sadist, abuser, freak. Other names that I don't dare speak for fear of who might see.
Worthless. Cannot create anything beautiful. Never will.
Ugly is wrong. By its very nature, ugliness is intrinsically bad. I am so terribly ugly.
I should not exist.
That hair, that voice, that stench. Worst of all that hideous, disgusting, twisted mind. That thing that sees monsters wherever I go, that thing that hears that endless screaming.
Those screams! The screams! I cannot drown them out, I hear them day in and day out; they know what I am, they see what I want and what I see and what I think and they know how hideous it truly is, and they know that thing that some call a 'soul' and others call a 'mind'. It's so wrong, so disgusting. And they never hesitate to tell me. They know. They see, and they don't like what they see one bit. So wrong. So wrong. So fucking wrong.
I'm so ugly. So disgusting. Something so brutally twisted has no place in the universe. I know it's not my fault, I know I can't help what I feel and want and think and see, but it's so disgusting. I don't care who made me this way. I just know there's no escape. There's no end to the screams, unless I stop thinking. Unless I stop feeling. Anything is better than this freakishness.
I know now why nobody can ever love me for long. Why nobody can ever really understand. It's because they don't want to. They get a glimpse of that hell that devours me from the inside out, and they want no more.
I still remember some of those days I wasn't so ugly. Before I snapped. Before those screams moved into my ears. I was beautiful then. Sometimes I get glimpses of what I could be, before those things I'm ashamed to even think I have inside me take hold again.
I wonder how long I'll be able to prolong this. I don't know. I really don't.