There's only one way I know how to love myself.
I take full responsibility for every bad thing that has ever happened to me, even the shit that really wasn't my fault--I was just a kid, having something done to her.
I dropped out of school because of a mental breakdown, and then I remembered that if I'm breathing, I'm surviving.
I lived with a trainwreck of a boyfriend, and then I remembered that I don't have to hate myself.
I got myself into eight thousand dollars worth of credit card debt, and then I remembered that I can't have things I haven't earned, and that I don't need much. (I just prefer to have a lot.)
So I work harder, and it doesn't always make me happy. I make choices every night when I stay in and go to bed early to be able to work well the next day. I miss the encores at shows because I have a meeting in the morning and a bar shift in the evening.
I choose to work and be financially secure because I know how it is to be drowning in debt, and I don't like that feeling. So I did something about it. And I continue to do things about it.
It's the same with the weight: I go through the phases, the overeating, the unadulterated body hatred, the crazy workouts, the starvation, the binging, the attempted purging (unless I'm drunk, I can never actually vomit. It's as though my body is just like, "Oh honey, no").
I didn't like feeling that way. So I did something about it. And I continue to do things, catching a yoga class in between jobs, being a complete food snob, limiting myself, restricting urges and instincts and desires, but I've changed my perspective.
Instead of desperately wanting a new car or an ice cream cone, I force myself to appreciate my piece of shit thrasher and a salad full of apples and olives and artichoke hearts and sunflower seeds and tahini dressing.
That's the only way I know how not to hate myself. Love what I have, dismiss what I want.