I don’t really think it’s all that fair that my face hates me right now. I supposed to be going to yoga. I don’t want anyone to see my face. I didn’t go to yoga on Thursday because I didn’t want anyone to see my face, and I can’t go next Thursday as I’m meeting the next psychologist. I have so much guilt for missing yoga sessions. I should go to yoga. I have booked it. But what about my face?
This is my brain right now. This is my brain when it’s significantly distracted from feeling rubbish.
I realised reading this over that actually, this is the most miserable post. Don’t read it if you don’t want to read someone being a dramatic child about life.
The other day, the psychologist told me I think too much. Apparently everyone has the thoughts that I have, but they don’t really effect them. They just continue along, thinking away and not worrying too much. Negative self-belief makes it really difficult for me to just move on from a thought. They stick in my head and I doubt myself so much I end up unable to function. I’m losing the ability to function and it’s worrying me. I can genuinely be ok sometimes. If I have lots of things going on at once all around me, then I’m alright. I don’t think because I’m watching something awful on iPlayer and I’m painting my nails and buying nonsense stuff on eBay. It’s when I stop that’s the issue. Unfortunately, stopping is involved in lots of things from cooking, going to the shop, getting dressed etc. to my dissertation work.
I literally cannot study right now.
Every time I try to study its the same and I wind up desperate and alone. Every time. I start thinking about how I’m really ugly and how I have no friends and how everyone else has a better life than me and how every fucking ending I’ve ever created in my sorry little narrative will never, ever come true because I’m useless and ruining my life and everyone is laughing at how much my life is fucked and how all my peers are working and getting somewhere and care about things and have ideas and friends and go out and look lovely and have money and do all the stuff that I’m supposed to be doing. But I’m not. I absolutely failed at life and now I have nothing at all. No job, no friends, no boyfriend, no confidence, no belief, no passion. Nothing. And I can’t fix it. I don’t know how. I keep thinking how it’ll be ok because someone will see me and want to help me. They won’t stay away because I’m boring and ugly, they’ll see me as interesting and in pain and want to make it better. Except that’ll never actually happen. Everyone is far to busy to save me and I don’t even think they can. Plus what do I even need saving from? My inability to be a productive member of society? My personality failures? The fact that I don’t really have friends? My self-imposed isolation? Every little narrative which fixes how much it hurts is a fucking lie and no one wants to help me and everyone is learning how ridiculous I am and how much they don’t like me and the only thing I have is a stupid internal world that will never happen and just confuses me as I begin to lose track of what actually happened and what I think happened. Sometimes I do nothing for hours but think myself a better life whilst hating myself for doing so because I’m not good enough for it to happen. Genuinely. I just sit there, thinking.
I just really want to be found. I don’t know why. I fully realise that it’s stupid, but I don’t think I know how to make my life more bearable and I just want someone else to do it for me. It can’t happen that way though. For one thing, I have to actually talk to other people for that to happen, but mostly I ignore them. Secondly, I think it’s one of those things you kinda have to work out by yourself. There’s still a really massive part of me that thinks “If I can actually express how much it hurts then someone will see.” I’m not good at communicating it though so any type of expression I have access to is not something I should contemplate really. Sometimes I do try calling people. Yesterday I called someone, but they didn’t answer. I then called someone else but they weren’t in London and I shouted at them for not being here right now and not helping and told them I couldn’t talk to them because I needed someone here right now then hung up. I wasn’t even annoyed at them. I was just really upset. That put me off calling anyone else though, which I actually think was smart. Plus what would I say? And anyway, as the psychologist says, “Outside reassurance is only a temporary fix and will probably end up worsening your self-esteem.” He’s right as well because whenever I talk to people, I hate myself more, and whenever someone’s nice to me, I hate them because I’m obviously the punchline to some cruel joke I’m not in on. His big idea is that I should never be alone, but that it doesn’t have to be people I know. I should just go to places where other people are so I’m less destructive. I can’t do that though because then they’ll see my face.
Instead, I buy stupid things on eBay with money I don’t really have because focusing on bidding numbs my head out for a little while. Spending money makes me feel better for a little while. I get a little pick me up from buying things because then they’ll be something new, just to get horrid guilt at materialism and lack of funds and the fact that I have no need for new things because they can’t change the fact that I’m terrible. I painted my nails really nice then cried because what’s the point of having nice nails when I’m ugly and have no friends so no one will see them and even if they did, they’d laugh about it because I’m making an effort to not be so hideous and there’s no point because I’m awful. I recently decided to get into The Only Way Is Essex because that is pretty numbing and silly, but I failed at that because it just upset me to watch people with lives. It’s the same reason I can’t watch Skins or Misfits or anything good without crying. Plus they talk a lot about being too fat or too thin or losing weight or gaining weight. So then I watched Secret Eaters because I thought at least the eating disordered part of me would get off on it. That bummed me out too though because a) I don’t think I will ever eat without realising I’m doing it, and b) I eat more food than a lot of the women in it and they get told off for eating too much and being fat. Granted I’m not technically obese and I am fully aware of everything that goes in my mouth and I don’t eat junk food really and whatever else. What upsets me is that the amount of calories I eat is deemed fat and unhealthy. And that I can’t see how I’ll ever be able to eat without realising.
Comparisons never work out in my favour. I think I’m going to try watch the Killing. They all look like they’re having a shit time. Hopefully any comparisons will make me feel ok. But then again, drama involves actually doing something, which I don’t. I tend to be jealous of people having a shit time because at least they are having time.
Compare and despair.
By thinking I should watch something, I’m failing because I should be working. But every time I try to work I end up distraught and wanted to implode in some sort of dramatic way in which I lose a ton of weight and damage my body so much that someone will help me because I’ll be so obviously fucked. Then I work out how stupid that is and how that’ll never work and just don’t see anything at all. My whole life becomes nothing and I lose all my hope. I can never be better, I have nothing, I am nothing, it’ll never change, what point is there, why the fuck bother? By not working enough though, I’m a useless-lazy-unproductive-waste-of-space-idiot-bitch-boring-failure-at-life. I live far too far into my own head. I’m disconnected from my own identity and the world around me. Nothing feels real at all. Nothing I’ve typed even feels real. It’s just a fucking story narrative thing I give myself where nothing I think or feel is actually true fact and I lose bits of memory and make up new memories and don’t know what’s happening around me. I just watch myself and watch the world go by without being in it. Watching myself happen once removed. It’s like watching T.V. except it’s you. You know what’s happened, but none of it seems real and none of it connects with your life and none of it has any consequence and you’ve had no control or impact on what’s gone on because it’s not you, but someone else. There is no consequence to not working because it doesn’t really happen anyway and the idea of time is so fucking vague. Except that’s completely untrue. I duno.
I think I may have reached the point in which I recognise myself as depressed. I’ve been diagnosed with depression, but I haven’t really felt like I’m really depressed. Sure I’m sad, but I can get by being sad because I’m holding on to the fact that I have things going for me. I don’t actually think I can get by anymore. I can’t even listen to music without being devastated. Either the lyrics or melody are really sad and I think about how awful I am, or they’re really happy and I think how that could never apply to me because I’m awful so then end up thinking about how awful I am. I’m rapidly losing the ability to function. I’m unable to do shit because I feel so fucking awful all the time. I think there are two types of depression – the depression you get when you hate yourself and your life and can never win, but still try to change even though you always fail and end up feeling worse, then the depression that comes after that when you realise that nothing you want from yourself and your life will ever happen and trying just makes you a bigger idiot because it’s like you haven’t noticed how truly shit you are, but now you have and you give up.
Depression number two is worth the side effects of getting medicated for. That’s my big plan for Monday. I’m not functioning and see no point in anything at all. I don’t give a fuck about myself and my aspirations anymore because it’s all so fucking pointless. I don’t know how to make this better because the idea of making it better seems fucking pointless because I’m nothing. Therefore, I think it might be time for lots of drugs.
What’s really rubbish is that this all makes me cry and I hate crying. Crying is just a fucking manipulation. I hate crying, even when I’m alone, because I think to myself “Why are you crying Ellie? Is it so you can tell people you cried and they’ll have sympathy? They won’t, you fucking manipulator. Stop trying to make out you’re sad.” How do you even know you’re sad? I don’t know anymore.
It’s Father’s Day. My Dad wants to go to the cinema, but I won’t go because my face is so horrible. He also wants to go for a meal but I can’t do that because I’m fat and ugly. He might get a take away, but I won’t join in because I’m too fat as it is and I had a banana today when I wasn’t meant to. Instead, I’m going to give him his present then hide in my room and wait for the day to end because that’s all I’m fit for. It must be shit having a daughter like me. What a fucking let down. A daughter that fails at life and is living with her parents at 23 with no life and no friends and no jobs because she’s so fucking awful. A daughter that wakes up only to spend the whole day distracting herself and waiting to go to bed again because at least then I’m asleep, wishing that I didn’t exsist. I’m basically a waste of money, space and parental investment. I’m not something to be proud of really. It’s just disappointing. It’d make you wonder why you even bothered.
Fucking hell Ellie. Stop being an emo fifteen year old and get a fucking job. I’m too old for this shit.
* I did go to yoga actually. An hour spent staring at my face and body in a mirror was a stupid idea. I had a panic attack at my fat legs. I’d forgotten my body is covered in sharpie so you can read how I feel when I took my hoodie off, then cried and scrubed my arm raw in the bathrooms. All the while I could see my face in the mirror and it made my heart sink. Sometimes it’s better to stay home.