I. Am. A. Horrible. Person.
I thought I was a nice guy, worth the time, worth knowing, worth being friends with, worth hanging out with, worth having around. But no. It seems not. I hate myself. And not in a "I'm so alone way" or a "I'm so ugly" way or an "I'm too fat" way, or a "I'm so depressed" way. A "I hate myself because if I met myself in real life, I would hate me". And I've never felt like this before. Who knew?