In my teens, I was unable to love another human being properly, because I didn't love myself. When I looked in the mirror, I saw someone ugly and skinny. I saw someone that was weak, and stupid, and uncool. I didn't like myself at all, let alone love myself.
And I never admitted it to anyone. I just acted with contempt, and hoped no one would notice. I wish that I had spoken to my friends about it, but it's awkward when you're a teen. What do you say to your buddies?
"Hey bro, I'm bitter a lot because I hate myself. Do you hate yourself too?"
I was so much in denial, that I don't think I even could have managed that sentence. Luckily, when I got older, I went to see a counsellor to figure it out. It's surprising how easy it is to reveal details about yourself to a complete stranger, rather than your friends.
I'm really glad I did. If my therapist and I hadn't spoken, then I don't think I ever would have kissed Farrah on that summer day. I wouldn't have shared three beautiful months with her.
And I wouldn't have learned to love myself.