my journey of not being able to love myself

almost all problems emerge because one is not able to love him or herself, so it is said. a statement that i used to ridicule has, ironically, become a statement whose efficaciousness defies my cognitive ability to resist. why? well, primarily because i have lots of problems which i cannot resolve — and, they must be resolved. they resist any sort of logical or medical treatment. hence, i infer, they must be lying in a much deeper level to which my manipulative hand, my consumer choices, my gift for the calculation cannot reach. this rather “primordial” domain, i came to believe, must somehow be connected to self-love. so, in short, i have to love myself.

well, this seems quite straightforward: just love yourself. simple. yet, in reality, it sets an extremely hard task. how can you love someone as close to you as your own self, someone whose most intimate lies and secrets you know very well, whom you cannot deceive, to whom you cannot lie, and with whom you cannot break up?

this is the “onerous task”. the hope is that achieving it will resolve my recurring problems, maintain my mental stability, habituate me to my body again, and, finally, turn me into someone who is happy with himself, who does not fight continuously and mindlessly with himself, and who is as incisive as a cat, as serious as a child, and as charming as a lake.

i will set down here my perennial struggle, like a journal, to love myself, which, as we come to witness later, portrays an ever-widening orbit within which i chase myself in an effort to convince myself to love myself. my self keeps fascinating me in my elasticity, tactical shrewdness, canniness, wittiness and alertness. he seems to be never short of enough reasons to circumvent, debunk, reject or simply ignore the dictate of self-love. if i can understand how and why i do that and i maintain this particular attitude, i believe that i can convince myself to love myself.

that's the hope. let's see.

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