Rot.

Today I'm awash with self-loathing.

When I gaze into the mirror I see a dull, fickle, incompetent child. She doesn't know how to work hard, and she'll never be a responsible adult. She's embarrassing. She's low-born. Why else would she come out of college without a job lined up?

She's less intelligent than those around her; its obvious in the way she lacks social grace. She falls prey to manipulation, because she's so desperate for acknowledgement of any kind. What a pity.

I loathe the way she stands there expectantly. As if the world will deliver itself to her. Dull thing. Not a hint of grit can be seen in her eyes. Not a hint of the cunning or ambition that propels her peers toward success. They roll their eyes at her. When will she stop showing up every time we invite her?

She pouts and whines and waits for someone to do the work for her. She lays in bed and gorges herself on junk food and lets her gym tag go dusty. She pumps narcotics into her body, while droning on about the inescapable effects of mental illness.

She is just not bright, they say, shaking their heads. Look, as she drowns in a pool of her own making. Poor thing. Dull thing.

She inhales mouthfuls of water as if they are fresh air.

I loathe the way she can't do anything right. She can't take care of herself, she can't love herself, she can't succeed academically or financially, she has no friends and doesn't deserve them anyway.

She is wretched and deserves to rot, rot, rot.

She is worthless, and only a burden in this world. Her parents hold their breath as they wait for her to inevitably stumble on her walk into adulthood. They shake their heads as she returns home empty-handed; another dud. Another failure. What a waste, they think. What a waste of children.