Dostoevsky making me hate myself

I literally don’t know what the hell happened, but lately I am just so angry. And I don’t know what made me this way. I struggle greatly with wanting to lose control, to let this anger out, somehow, but then having an urge to always appear put together no matter what or the internal turmoils/fights I am facing, because somehow letting go, loosening out, makes me feel worse in the end. So it’s like this loop, and I cannot win.

I don’t know what caused it. There have always been things that highly aggravated me, if I thought about them, but now I just cannot seem to get away from them.

I can’t help but think that there is a correlation with Dostoevsky, who has seemed to made me hate myself. When I first took the course, I imagined him a great writer, but (and to be fair, I’ll only read one work so far, but it has already been hinted, similar themes, in future works I will read) I suffered reading this work. Записки из Подполья. I was reading it, and there was a certain amount of chapters I had to read, but I actually had to stop and could not read further, which screwed me over for the next day, when I had to stay up for an hour and a half, trying to finish. It was so unpleasant to read, that I didn’t want to read it, but I knew I had to, and that in the end, I would force myself.

It might be just me, that hated it reading it so much. I imagined his works would include a lot of philosophical great topics to think about, kind-of like my blog! Like what my blog is; what I personally write about. But instead, it had so many things that it made me think about, unpleasant things, that I wouldn’t want to think about. Ways of thinking, ways of living, and when I try to make peace with the fact that it was just “the way things were” I have to be reminded of the horrible reality that things are still the exact same way, just in a modern twist. It’s like when you hate waking up because you remember about your problems. Except now, these things that I would only sometimes think about, I can’t help thinking about all the time, and it plagues and saddens me, to remember. But it’s not even remembering about anymore, it’s always there, like some kind of…plague I don’t know what other words to use to describe it.

I guess there are a couple of reasons for the anger.

1.) Knowing that people are like that, then and now; or that people view them like that

2.) Then, as a consequence, I feel like I am viewed the same way. And by trying to embrace the things, it looks like I am the same, and supporting it. At the same time, why am I even caring about what it “looks like,” or what other people think?

I think I’m giving too much power to what was, to what is, to what others thought or think, and the way they might view me. I need to separate myself. It doesn’t affect me (Which, of course, is not totally true. I am inevitably affected. But I can be my own person, do my own thing, and in a way, not think of myself as affected). At the very least, not be angry about these things I can consider as “out of my control” and therefore not allowing them to be plague me.