The problem is that I’m an addict. I was raised by addicts. I often find myself in the company of fellow addicts. Only my drug of choice is not alcohol, it’s feeling bad about myself — perhaps the most pathetic of habits, but one that is no less real.

My addiction is self-hate and I’m using it to sabotage myself so that I am never, ever happy, because it’s what I feel that I deserve. After all, if I can find a way to view something as…