A rose by any other name would smell as sweet- unless I’ve cut off my nose to spite my face through self-hatred. The fragrance of a rose reminds me who knows what matters no matter what names by which I call myself. Self-hatred is never born out of love, but out of pride, and pride doesn’t understand that emotion is stronger than thought and I thought. The emotion of self-hatred is anger. This anger causes huge mood swings that I begin to judge as a mental problem rather than an attitude problem.
sounds familiar.