C.S. Lewis wrote on self love thusly:
For a long time I used to think this a silly, straw-splitting distinction: how could you hate what a man did and not hate the man? But years later it occurred to me that there was one man to whom I had been doing this all my life—namely myself. However much I might dislike my own cowardice or conceit or greed, I went on loving myself. There had never been the slightest difficulty about it. In fact the very reason why I hated these things was that I loved the man. Just because I loved myself, I was sorry to find that I was the sort of man who did those things.I remember reading this (in Mere Christianity, which is a very interesting book even if you aren't religious) and wondering about it then, because I don't feel this way. I do have difficulty in loving myself, especially when I'm engaging in tiresome behavior. My self-love is conditional: present if I'm pleased with my behavior, but vanishing when things aren't going well. Instead, I often feel like I am that annoying coworker who sits next door: you have to be polite and accomplish tasks together, but you don't like or respect them, or even feel any positive emotion towards them. It's not that you actively hate them, but it's maddening that you can't escape.
I wonder if I am a unusually psychologically ill-balanced person, or if Lewis just has a really good opinion of himself.