Where does empathy for ugly people come from?

Why do people think it's okay for them to be happy? Why do people think it's okay for them to exist?

When wake up every morning, it's always the same way—

For the briefest of moments, I feel happy, my pain gone away.

But then it quickly dissolves away...It goes away into nothingness, as the truth claws itself into me. It's like a poison that numbs every part of my body, I can feel my limbs become heavy, and every part of me becomes a battleground as I try and forget. I try and forget the fact that ugly people exist.

I wake up, and move to the bathroom. I stare into the mirror, for what feels like hours. What happened to me when I was asleep? My mind is filled with one penetrating thought, one reminder: ugly people exist.

When I think that, something inside of me breaks. I don't leave until the voice in my head is satisfied—because ugly people exist.

I skip breakfast—and forget to eat all day. I'm too distracted with trying to keep my thoughts at bay. While out and about, at the store to buy food, I notice a fat cow buying candy, her face a shaggy mess, of beauty's decay. I try and I try to ignore—

But she's a reminder that ugly people exist. I become desperate, and I run to the restroom. Dirty and disgusting, are those loos—As I look in the mirror, I can swear that she's right there—right next to me, standing without a care, the most beautiful woman, with silky blonde hair.

Her name is Ann—and she's not even real.

But there she stands, with an arm around my neck, and into my ear she whispers, telling me what I should say:

"you're a total wreck; an insecure, miserable, pathetic runt. Just go and kill yourself, you're a pathetic cunt.

That's what you should tell to that fat bitch. Go ahead, tell her she belongs in the ditch."

Something inside of me snaps, and I look insane. Luckily there's no one else there, no one to see the pain—the pain of my agonising understanding, of my continuous suffering, of knowing the truth, something no one else, seems to want to care about.

I just can't stand the happiness they have.

I want it to all break-I want their happiness to go away. I can't stand those subhuman cunts with their putrid lives. I can't stand that they exist-they they are allowed to be happy. I cannot stand it, it drives me nuts.

I just want them all to die, I want them all to decay away.

For fuck's sake, please go away-please stop existing, please stop being happy, please stop achieving things you don't deserve. Just stop it, stop it, please.

You're putrid with no value. You are social baggage, and I want you to die.

And so I run past you, as I TRY and try, to just hold my feelings in myself, without doing anything to hurt you.

And I run back to my place, I lock the door, and I try to avoid the world outside. I try and pretend, I try and hide. I try and pretend that on the inside, inside my small crampled place, that the world isn't insane:

that the world I live is in one where ugly people are oppressed. Their happiness is a dread, and they are all required to be dead. I long for that world, I convince myself it's true.

My only outlet is to write. So I write, I write, I read, and I write. I crawl into a world where Ann exists, where I can feel at peace.

But it's all just a distraction.

It's just a game.

Because I live in a world where ugly people exist.

I live in a world where ugly people can exist.

I live in a world where ugly people can be happy. And I loathe that world where ugly people can be happy.

I wish for a world where ugly people are all dead.

I wish for a world where the idea isn't funny, that ugly people need to all die for you honey-for my honey in my head.

Because I long for a world where ugly people are all dead.

I long for a world where their happiness is dread.

I long for a world full of uglies dead, full of their blood on the damn ground.

I want to take a knife and stab it through their throats. I want to a take a fucking knife and rip you to peaces. To destroy that happiness and joy however I can.

I know that sounds edgy, and I'm sorry-Honestly, I'd prefer if it was handled without violence, like a trolley. Please, please just give me something.

Let me live in a world where ugly people cannot be happy.

Because I fear I might finally snap, if I have to treat one more of them with respect.

If I'm forced to show one more of them empathy.

I need to do something. I need to do something to make sure they do not drag us all down. Because they exist, they're out there, as useless baggage.

Just why?

What makes people care about ugly people?

How do they not understand that they hold toxic negative-worth? How don't they see the subhumans that I see?