Hating Yourself
by AHS
For a man so narcissistic, and deservedly so, you are far too good at hating yourself, Brian Kinney.
Let me count the ways…
You hate and you love your parents, and you hate yourself for both. You hate your mom even more than you hated your dad, which shouldn't be possible, considering he used to beat the shit out of you. But maybe that's why. At least he cared enough to hit you. That sounds twisted, but… at least he felt enough to get mad. Unlike your mother, who almost never touched you or showed any emotion at all. Your mother, who had you not because she wanted you, but because not to would have been a sin. The worst part is that you know she actually believes she's a good mother. She played the role so perfectly at church, in front of the neighbors, she fucking fooled herself. Your father never pretended to be a good father.
And he may have been the one to tell you all the time that you weren't worth anything… but it was your mother's silence that made you believe it.
But they're your parents, and that part of you that was programmed since before birth to want their love and acceptance, you've never managed to 100% kill. And fuck, you hate yourself for that failing.
You hate yourself for not being able to be more for Michael, and for Lindsay. You hate yourself for whatever it is you did that made them love you in the first place, 'cause they probably would have been better off otherwise. You hate yourself for leading on… one, possibly both, at different times. And, as much as you love them, there is this tiny shameful part of you, deep down, that is angry with them, just a little, for loving you just a little too much. For wanting you in a way that wasn't how you needed them and was never going to work and could have messed up everything forever.
On the rare occasions that tiny part makes itself known, you really hate yourself.
You hate yourself for picking up a 17-year-old virgin and having sex with him. For whatever it is you did that made HIM love you. And mostly because you wouldn't go back and undo any of it.
You hate yourself for not having a fucking psychic vision of a bat before it appeared and swung and tried to take. You hate yourself for not running faster. And you would run faster. You would fly. You would let your head be the one to crack open instead. But you could never wish it away. The streetlamp, all the fucking, even that dance. You hate yourself for your selfishness and think he should hate you, too. (But, since you are so selfish, you're fucking glad he doesn't.)
You hate yourself for not being able to love, but you know that's not the case. You love. You've always loved. From the child desperately loving those who didn't deserve it, to somehow a father, who felt a light turn on inside when he held his kid for the first time.
You love generously, through a guise of miserliness, and devotedly, through a guise of boredom. Lately… much too naturally.
You were just never really taught how to be loved. A precious few in your life tried, but your learning curve has been something less than spectacular. Actually, pretty fucking sad. Now, you're afraid, you might finally be catching on.
Because someone was on to you. Someone wouldn't give up. Someone's been giving you some pretty intense one-on-one lessons for the last couple of years.
And you can't quite hate yourself enough to deprive yourself of the education.