By Madonna McManus
I hated myself.
If you can relate to the above statement (which I hope you can’t), you understand what “hating yourself” embodies: self-numbing with chemicals and shallow relationships, desperately needing to be someone else, faking happiness (and doing it well) so you can secretly continue the self-hate undisturbed, avoiding mirrors (the human kind). That’s how I lived for three years, ages 21 through 23. Read More