Tag Archives: depression

on being rubbish.

So I’ve not really been blogging or reading blogs or doing anything all that interesting the past few days. Sorry. Mostly, I have been freaking out.

Standard.

This is a really self-indulgent post. Nothing good can come from it. Sorry. I just start feeling like I should blog because I haven’t done a public post in a while, even when I have nothing good to say so I’m just going to be honest and it’ll probably be rubbish.

I’m on Prozac now, which I think is playing a massive part in my freaking out actually. I mean, side effect wise, I haven’t been hit by like awful migraines or anything, but I am a ball of tensed up, negative energy. It’s kinda like being a very small amount on pills all the time. And I mean a tiny amount. It’s like that first tingling, but you’re not sure if you wishful thinking it into being or not. You’re tightly wound and your belly is doing an anxiety dance and your thoughts speed up to one hundred million zillion thoughts a second, yet you’re never actually high. It’s kinda crappy, but should settle after a few weeks. Sleep is a distant memory of mine.

I’m worried about them though. The last SSRI experience didn’t go so well, and this beginning part isn’t filling me with optimism. Obviously I haven’t had any positive mood effects yet, but they take a good few weeks to start getting their shit together. I have however, had multiple calls to crisis support because everything’s fucked. I can’t stop thinking about how I’m nothing but lies and I’m completely made up and even what I make up sucks because I haven’t even got the ability to create a pretend type of good so really, I have absolutely nothing and I’ll never have anything. I’ve spent so long creating nothing that what was me in the first place, if there even was a me, has turned to dust. Everyone know’s that I’m nothing. They see it and they know and they judge me. I can’t make something worthwhile and I’ve got nothing and there’s no point. All this thinking is leading me into some pretty dark corners which are eerily reminiscent of first year. I duno if it’s the meds though. I hope it is kinda, because then I can either a) wait for it to calm down or b) come off them. If it’s just the way my mind has decided it wants to be then… I duno it’d just suck more. My mental health is kinda rocky at the moment. I was really fucking depressive, then I had like two days of being kinda hyped, then I started to get so fast and so concerned and so confused that I can’t see any way out of it and I end up sitting on the phone to the nice man on the crisis line who talks to me for a bit and tells me to think about A&E, but I ignore him because it’s not an absolute necessity. My mental health is plummeting I think.

Or is it? I don’t know. Maybe I want it to plummet. I don’t think I’d want that because that doesn’t sound nice. Or maybe I’m just dramatic. Plummet is a dramatic word.

I don’t think it’s dramatic though. And I don’t want to feel like shit.

Story of my brain. Fucking constant brain noise.

I’ve got an emergency appointment with the psychiatrist at the CMHT on Tuesday. It’s at 9:30am which will not be fun. I feel like shit for having that appointment. I feel like I didn’t actually freak out and I didn’t feel all the things I said I felt and I didn’t mean any of it and he’s going to think I’m a needy, dramatic dickhead and I don’t need his help and I suck. He’s going to think that I don’t realise I’ve got it easy and there’s no reason to see him. He’ll think I’m no good and hate me and I’m wasting his time and he has more important people to treat than me. He’s going to think I’m just being over the top.

Except maybe I’m not. I duno. He blatantly already thinks I suck.

I think today was better than yesterday. Yesterday a man stopped to talk to me because I looked so fucking crappy. He asked me if I was ok. To be fair, I was just staring at the cars under a bridge zooming along. I don’t know if I knew him because as soon as he spoke, I freaked out went “What? Yeah? Sorry. I’m going.” and ran away without looking at him like any normal person would do. Who know’s, maybe he was a friend?

Today though, Mum took me to Zizzi’s for lunch. I had a glass of prosecco, lots of garlic bread stick things, creamy harissa chicken pasta stuff and a piece of plum and fig frangipane tart thingy. I liked going to lunch. I felt good I laughed a lot. Then I got that emotional gravitational pull thing where you’re suddenly hit in the fact by this bodily emotion that wants to suck you into the Earth’s core when I realised I’m going to have a benefit assessment soon and I’d freaked out so much I had convinced my psychiatrist to see me and I don’t know anything about myself or what my trajectory is or if I can feel well ever. It was ok though because, like a stupid person, I got to hold the Ma’s hand. She called me her lovely girl and it was comforting. She bought me nice things in M&S and we had a rubbish coffee in a pretty shop. We were in South Woodford, so we did some good Essex people watching. I then went and saw my friend. I think I did alright. I was really fast when I met her. My head, and therefore my mouth, were going so fast I couldn’t keep track of what I was doing or saying. I talked about homemade nut butters and smoothies and eBay and on and on. My fingers were tingling. I really wanted to talk to her about what’s been going on with me though. I think that’s why it all got too speedy for me. Nervous. Which is also why it wasn’t me. Except it was. It doesn’t feel like it was me. It feels like I wasn’t in control and made it all up and fucked up so much that she’ll hate me forever because I got it wrong and wasn’t fun or interesting or anything. I performed the wrong things and lied and now she’ll think I suck. Except I didn’t think I was making it up at the time. I duno.

Anyway, she was nice. She complimented my fingernails. She told me that she thinks what’s happening right now makes sense. She told me that she never thought that recovery from anorexia would make things ok for me because they never were ok for me for as long as she’s known me. I think she might be right. I don’t want her to be right though. Or maybe I do. I don’t know. She wasn’t surprised. I hate that a little bit because I’m surprised. I also don’t hate it because at least then I’m not just making it up fully. I don’t know. I think maybe I annoyed her. Thinking about it all makes me feel sick. Other people are really difficult. I told her I’d lend her summer dresses. I hope she likes my dresses. I don’t like it when people think my clothes suck because then they must think that I’m just a rubbish person with rubbish taste. I try really hard to look nice. Plus I’m sure once I give them away, I’ll suddenly want them because if someone else likes them and wears them, I’ll think they look nice and that should be how I look. Standard though. I still want to lend them to her though because it’ll mean I can be nice and she approves of me.

I realise this might be a bit cryptic. Some people know some things, other people don’t. I want to write for both sets. I’m failing miserably. Sorry.

When things speed up, I get more likely to talk to people, but equally my attention span gets really short. I can’t concentrate on any one thing for long and my mind drifts to conversations that probably never have and never will happen. Those conversations occupy my mind non-stop, unless I’m telling myself off. In those conversations, I tend to explain myself to people. So instead of feeling something, I think how I’d tell someone, then I get confused over whether I felt it or not. Maybe blogging makes it worse. Maybe it makes it better. I dunno. I explain myself a lot on this thing. So anyway, I’m more likely to reply to texts, but I’m less likely to read a blog post. Then in actual conversations, I lose track of what’s happening and what’s being said and I forget where I started and why any of the words are being used. Sorry for being a bit absent. Both in the internet sense and when people actually see me.

It’s brain mush. If it isn’t doable in an instant, it just isn’t going to happen. Books can literally fuck off right now. Which sucks because I love reading. Way too much delay in that gratification. They are no distraction at all. If I try to read, I always wind up feeling way worse than if I’d just watched day time t.v. and that’s saying something.

I feel like all my insides are screaming and my chest is being sucked into the Earth and there isn’t anything I can do to stop the constant whirring of my brain spilling out incoherent thought after thought.

Yesterday I couldn’t sleep because I convinced myself I had Munchausen syndrome. Then I thought that I don’t because if I wanted to be sick so much, I could have pretty easily put myself into hospital with restriction, and I chose to get better. I had a week to gain weight before I was made in-patient. I chose to gain weight that week to not be put in hospital, even though part of me wanted to, because I did know that it’d suck to not be at home and to not eat nice food and to not see my friends. And if I really wanted to be ill again, the easiest thing to do would be relapse. I’m working hard to not relapse though. I work at it every day and it’s hard. It’s not as hard as it used to be, but I’m often deliberately going against urges to cut back. I could get sick in a simple, less noisy, less unstable, less emotional way. And I’d also get to be thin and achieve something at the same time. That would be better than this. This sucks. Plus I’m so worked up about the fact that I’m made of lies. I’ve written out all the things I want to discuss with my team this week. I’ve gone over it again and again, adding bits that might make me look worse so I don’t leave them out and think I’m deceiving everyone because then I can’t believe them. And taking out anything that may be an exaggeration or simply untrue.

If I really did want to be sick, why would it bother me so much that I had to know for sure I was actually sick? I have to know the actual, factual truth. There’s always a truth and I don’t feel like I’ve got it and I hate not knowing. I have to find the facts to myself. Right now I am no facts. I need facts.

And I don’t like, rub dirt in my injuries or fake psychosis or tamper with test results.

So then I decided maybe I don’t have Munchausen syndrome. But then I’d realised I’d spent hours going round and round in circles and really hadn’t solved anything. And all it had done is work me up even more.

But then why do I feel like I can’t possibly be telling the truth about anything at all? Why does it feel like I don’t have any real emotions, yet I’m performing them so wholeheartedly that every part of me feels so intensely all the time that it’s raw?

I have no direction. I have no forward momentum. I have no prospects. Everyone around me is busy making lives and getting serious. I’m so behind that I’ll never amount to anything. I don’t know what I want. I say I want things, but I don’t know what they are. I want to leave this city. Some days I want to move to France, other days Bristol, other days the sea-side, other days Scotland. I want to leave. But I have nowhere to go. I want to be independent, but I can’t because I can’t keep my shit together for long enough to even think about having a bit of adulthood. I’m this stupid, lost person that’s fucked up and failed so often that they can never amount to anything. And even if I could, I have no idea what I’d want to amount to, so wouldn’t find a place to start. I want a tiny flat where it’s only me and I have my own space to freak out in with no one watching. I want someone to look after me and hold my hand when I’m scared and calm me down in the middle of the night when I’m worked up and alone. I want someone to be with me making it better all the time. I want friends who wouldn’t see me as too much of a liability to live with. I want to be entirely isolated and alone. I want a job I care about so I could make any of this shit happen, but I don’t even know what I care about. I want to do a PhD. Or be a teacher. Or any number of things I’ll never be. I want so much and I’ll never have it because I suck at being alive.

So I perform. And even that performance sucks. I wish I didn’t give a fuck. Sometimes I give up and don’t give a shit about anything. I like those moods because at least then I’m not losing.

I’m really distressed at the moment. I don’t know what to do.

I reserve the right to completely change my mood in an hour. Or maybe even 20 minutes. Or maybe in 6 days. Who the fuck knows? I definitely don’t.

Sorry for being really annoying and also really long. I think I’ll read some blogs now and maybe even comment if I can get through any. No promises. Maybe it’ll distract. Maybe not.

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Filed under life, recovery, rubbish

stuck.

So I want to say “I’m not going to write any more miserable posts about how everything is rubbish” because chances are, that’d turn out to be a lie. I don’t actually want a misery blog though so I’m going to try to keep all my “woe is me” to myself. It’s important to me that what I’m typing is as honest as possible because otherwise, what’s the point? But I’ve said I’m really struggling right now and I don’t see the point in rehashing the same story. It’s been this exact story before and what’s really annoying is that it’s the same people in the same place with the same thoughts and feelings as it was before, just with treatment, recovery and an ex who shouts at me and tell me I’m doing everything wrong and don’t try hard enough. And the absence of help. I had a lot of help from all the people in my life before, but they are all pretty reasonably busy now that we’re not teenagers so they don’t really have the time to help or be in my life in a way that I’ll allow. I think I’m possibly too full on. I can’t seem to hack anyone half in my life. You’re either involved or not and there’s no middle ground. I like people to behave by my rules, and when they don’t I get upset and can’t see them. Even though they’ve done nothing wrong. That kinda leaves most people out of helping as they can’t come over when I’m freaking out or hold my hand when I cry. It sucks that people don’t hold hands. When you’re little, you hold hands all the time with friends and fam and I was basically still doing that till a few years ago, but everyone went to university and you don’t know who’d mind when you’re surrounded by new people and then when everyone comes home you wonder who’s grown out of it. I still hold hands with people who let me when I’m really nervous. I duno though. It sucks that it’s kinda a couple thing when actually, I don’t think it’s remotely romantic, but I’m quite a tactile person and I’m not so keen on hugs anymore because then people know what size I am and can make judgements. Plus the sneaky getting picked up move has left me kinda scarred. Platonic hand holding seems entirely logical to me. It’s entirely safe, within boundaries, tactile support.

This is what happens when I start typing. See I actually have a point I want to get to. Hands have nothing to do with that point, but it popped into my head and I wanted to think about it so I wrote a whole paragraph. I need to start having plans for posts because really, they are far too long. I need to reign my thought process in a little.

So anyway, I went to my GP yesterday. He told me I had to speak to the Access Team. The Access Team told me my GP was wrong and I had to talk to the psychiatrist at the CMHT. I called them and obviously was told by a secretary that someone would get back to me. Seriously, trying to contact a psychiatrist is such a difficult task. I also saw the psychologist today. He told me I looked bundled up which is true because my face is disgusting and I didn’t want him to see, but that just drew more attention to my face. I stuck with it though and wore my hood up and scarf round my mouth and sunglasses the whole time. It was quite warm today so I must have looked like a proper loser, but it’s better than having my face out. He told me I was stuck and need to start challenging my beliefs. That’s all well and good in theory but seriously, how the fuck do you do that? It’s not like these beliefs pop out of nowhere. Honestly, these are the same things I felt for longer than I can remember. What’s annoying is that it’s so arrogant as well. I spend a lot of time thinking about myself and sure it’s not exactly a positive spin, but seriously, there are way more important things in the world than my sorry life. I have guilt for thinking things about myself. That’s not really the point though. The point is that how the fuck do you challenge beliefs? It’s not like food beliefs where you just see what happens when you practically test it. It’s thought beliefs. It is years and years of evidence that turns into fact. Plus how do you even know if your beliefs are wrong? You have to think on some level that they might be wrong to challenge them, but if you just cannot comprehend how they aren’t true, what are you supposed to do? I think this is why the psychologist thinks I’m stuck.

What’s annoying about the psychologist is that for him, this is all kinda new. Never mind the fact that I’ve been trending downwards for a few months because it’s not like I saw him in that time, but also more generally. It really concerns me that this is just what I’ll always do and always feel because this is exactly the same as before. He sees it as a new development. I see it as the same old issues. There’s nothing new about it. He only knows me in this tiny, brief and absolutely bizarre moment in my life when I’m completely numb and disconnected and only think about food, then as my whole body and mind switch on again. It’s such a specific thing and doesn’t really give an accurate portrayal of who a person is. Even in a purely biological sense, that’s a pretty bizarre thing to put your body through and it does impact your brain and hormones in strange ways. None of this is eating disorder driven anymore though really. I still have a lot of hang ups and issues to deal with and am by no means fully recovered, but it’s not the thing that bothers me right now. I guess that’s progress, except it purely feels like I’ve switched one shit thing for another, equally shit thing. Still, it is progress actually, even if right now I honestly don’t know why I bothered. Anyway, it concerns me because I think that I’m going to be like this forever. He asked me what I use to cope. I think that is a naive question to ask someone in recovery from an eating disorder with a known history of self-injury. Getting high, cutting holes in my body, pulling my hair out, punching things, starving myself and exercising till I physically cannot move aren’t exactly killer ideas right now, but they all help me to manage thoughts of how much I suck and help me have a kind of life. He then told me that “they are only short-term fixes” and sure, self-injury and exercise definitely are, but really, you can stay high for an incredible amount of time if you set your mind to it, and you can starve for even longer. I managed to not have to deal with this for a really long time through starving. If it was only a short-term solution, I wouldn’t have gotten so ill. If I had better solutions to the problem, I’d probably use them right now rather than feel horrible, but seeing as I’m trying to not do these things, I have to kinda flail about till I work something out. Shouldn’t that be obvious? I wondered today if he knew what he was talking about. Didn’t solve the fact that I don’t know how to fix it.

Except with medication that now, I’m not allowed to have. The psychiatrist called me back and she thinks that my psychological assessment on Thursday may give me some acute help. How? I asked how and she said it would. I told her how my actual therapy isn’t giving me acute help but she didn’t listen. I asked her if I just have to feel awful for till therapy maybe works and she said “No – your assessment will help” even though I’d told her that I didn’t think it would. I fucking hate taking medications and the fact that I asked really means I’m doing badly. I’m hoping to sneaky sneak past her back and pick up a prescription for the psychiatrist at the EDU next week. I cannot see how an assessment is possibly going to make things anything but worse. I get so worked up about assessments. Urgh. And it took so much fucking courage for me to even ask because I hate calling them up and asking for help. I hate it because I never feel like I deserve help. Well apparently, I don’t.

I don’t feel like I got anywhere or learnt anything in therapy today, though the psychologist tells me I was actually challenging my assumptions – whatever the fuck that means. I also think that’s a shit thing to say to someone. I think it’s shit to tell someone they are stuck. It’s hardly motivational to tell someone that they are unable to move forward. I then cried on the overground like a moron because he asked me things that made me really hurt, yet I refused to cry in front of him. Then being told that I can’t have access to something that sure, won’t fix a damn thing, but might make me able to have a fucking life right now and actually do things and stop upsetting people and stop ruining my relationships, pushed me into full on water works and panic attacks. Medication might not have worked, but I really wanted to try something to make my life a little easier whilst I do the work in therapy to fix things. I duno.

So I came home and did the same thing I’ve done for the past few days which is watch far too much Made in Chelsea on 4od. You know something? It’s really awful. It’s annoying people who really already have enough money that they don’t need royalties from the show, but just actually think their lives are that interesting. Every single person is irritating. Yet it’s pretty numbing and easy to watch. Plus you don’t have to look at it as nothing happens, so I’ve been sewing at the same time to keep my hands busy.

At some point I have to be able to do more than watch bad catch up television and sew.

See I know this isn’t exactly a positive, upbeat post, but I actually think this is a lot less “I HATE MY LIFE.” I’m thinking of doing some more abstract, what helped me in recovery posts maybe. Break from life posts. I duno. Most of the people who read this are probably more interested in recovery and eating disorder stuff than how much I suck. I duno. Lemme know if you hate the idea.

I really wish blogs had chat. I want to chat, but actual chat rooms are full of twelve-year-old boys who pretend to be seventeen so they can “enter private chat” with fourteen year old girls who think they might find someone who older, more mature and understands them. There should be chat for only cool people. I don’t know how you’d enforce that membership rule though, and it’d probably exclude me. I’m kinda lame.

I haven’t even got to my point you know, but this post will be under 2,000 words so I guess I’ll get to it some other time. Must learn to be concise and keep on task.

And for no reason other than I think everyone should have this in their life, plus you know, it’s motivational quitting music. And also she’s my new music obsession –

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Filed under life, rant, recovery

“this is heavenly. this is nothing at all.”

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.

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crying on the tube.

Thank God the Queen is almost over. I’ve got to this point where I just cannot even comprehend why anyone cares this much. So she goes from one place to another – and? Why do you need to watch that? It’s almost fascinating – people who really do get emotionally attached to seeing and old woman they will never speak to and don’t know. It would be anyway, if it wasn’t so dull. I just don’t get it. But then I’m not a royalist. I cannot comprehend the appeal. Yesterday, I went to Oxford Street and in all the little side streets were mini street parties. It’s beyond me entirely.

Yesterday was actually pretty awful in a lot of ways. I’m mostly sticking to my rules. I avoided the pub and some friendly outings due to the chances of alcohol and people who I think hate me, I did something nice for myself etc. (fabz. golden hoops with skulls threaded on them – yes please! Sometimes I think I should stop buying things because they’re silly. Then I realise life would be so boring then). It doesn’t change the fact that I’ve lost a whole afternoon and that I don’t feel like I was really there or that it was me or that I had any true thoughts. It didn’t really happen because I wasn’t there. I watched it, once removed. No control over my actions and completely void of any thoughts because I don’t have true thoughts. I ended up crying alone on the tube home.

I really hate crying on the tube. People watch you and don’t want to be near you. It was rush hour so it was packed, but people tried to stay away. No one wants to try to make it better, which I like personally as that would be mortifying, but it leads to making a whole load of strangers incredibly awkward looking. It’s not nice watching a girl cry, and no one wants to think of themselves as bad people for not helping because they’re stuck near you for so long that it seems polite to get involved, but no one actually wants to. It just becomes an exercise in awkward smiles, stepping away and glances which try to be sly, but aren’t. It’s really uncomfortable. It’s worse than crying on National Rail. National Rail travellers tend to want to be more involved. They see you cry, they offer you one of their Malteasers, or a tissue, or ask how you are, or give you an unwanted newspaper, or resolve to distract you for the whole journey (which has actually happened to me and I’m incredibly grateful for) etc. Not everyone, but someone always seems to eventually want to help. And because they cross that line, you can say no, you don’t want or need anything, so their absolved of any guilt whilst you’re left alone. That’s what I think anyway, and I act this way in both scenarios when I see someone obviously hurting. National Rail is just less awkward.

I then proceeded to cry all the way home and into my room. Then over dinner, which made it almost impossible to eat. Lots of tears.

By midnight I was pretty desperate. I felt awful and empty and I had nothing and no one. The fam were away last night, so I had no one to distract me, and Brother had ignored me when he came home from work so I assumed he’d had enough of me. I went through my phone contacts over and over, looking for someone to call. There wasn’t anyone. Plus, as it’s a Bank holiday today, I assumed they’d all be busy anyway and not have the time for me. I don’t know what it is I need, but I know I need something. I don’t know how to ask for it though, or whether or not anyone can help me with it. I’m glad I didn’t actually call. I sent a measly, nondescript text that was ignored, but in the long run, I’m glad it was ignored. I’d probably be so ashamed if I’d actually spoken. In all honesty, I really just wanted a hug. But in reality, I don’t have anyone to call when I feel so awful. No one else calls me up with the thoughts and feelings I have so often, so I assume it’s either inappropriate or abnormal or I don’t really have anyone that would consider me that much of a friend.Whatever reason, I don’t have anyone.

I really had nothing. Right then, I had absolutely nothing. I’m struggling to have something today. Sitting at home, alone, trying to rationalise that I do actually have some things, even if they are small, that make me less empty. I still feel empty though. It’s just more overwhelming at night.

So after completely ruining my day and being incredibly self-destructive, I eventually called my crisis line. It takes a lot for me to call them. I always feel like I’m not bad enough, that it should be worse. But I called them. I got put through to a woman who works on the switchboard for NEFLT, and it’s her job to put you through to the right borough. She put me through, but no one picked up. No one picked up the 24hour crisis line for my borough. She tried over and over. No one picked up. She tried other boroughs, but no one would answer me as I’m not in their care. She told me she’d call back in five minutes, so I hid under my duvet, trying some mindfulness techniques to put me in the moment. Lots of “I am in the dark. My skin feels warm. The duvet is soft. The mattress is springy” whilst I waited for half an hour, then eventually called her back. Again she tried over and over to be put through. It didn’t work. Eventually she got me on the phone to someone in another borough. This new woman just shouted “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?” I asked who she was and if she could help me. She didn’t give a name. She just shouted “NO. GO TO HOSPITAL. CAN YOU GET TO HOSPITAL? THEY CAN HELP YOU THERE. THEY’LL HAVE AN ON CALL TEAM. GO NOW. CAN YOU GET THERE? IF YOU’RE NOT OK, GO THERE. I’M SURE YOU CAN.” So I just mumbled “yer. bye.” and hung up. I can’t leave the house alone in the dark. I literally just can’t – one of the more persistant effects of PTSD. And by this point, it was the small hours of the morning, so it’s not exactly the safest of times anyway. So I didn’t go to hospital. I just curled up under my duvet for a few hours. It took a lot to keep myself there. I felt so unsafe and so empty. There was just nothing. I called Samaritans and talked to them. It wasn’t what I needed, but it was better than being alone. Destructive night. It took a long time to fall asleep.

Only to be awoken at twenty past seven by the crisis team. Apparently if no one answers, they’re supposed to leave a message. The switchboard woman didn’t leave a message. If she’d done so, I would have been called back hours earlier, whilst I was scared, devastated, alone and (most importantly) awake. Instead, she told the team at seven am this morning. I was groggy and didn’t know what was going on. She asked if I needed her to come round. I said no, though I probably should have said yes. She told me she’d contact the CMHT for me and they’d call me when they open after the bank holiday. Apparently, I also have to call the psychological services to try to speed up getting a new psychologist. I don’t know if I will. I already have one, even if I haven’t had any contact with him in almost two months. I couldn’t tell her anything. I should have. I need the support. But I really wasn’t awake enough. Two hours of sleep will do that to you.

After a meaningless few hours in bed, I eventually got some more sleep. I woke up at one this afternoon. The not so funny thing is, whenever things go so badly, food becomes so easy to focus on. I put too much cereal in evening snack last night. I shouldn’t have had so much cereal. I’m more hungry than I should be. Why am I hungry? Is it because I’m ill. I am ill, but generally that makes me less hungry. Why did I eat that much cereal? I should eat less today.  Don’t need a snack. No one will know. No one is watching anymore. I’m already fat, no need to get fatter. That cereal has caused me to gain weight. I’m so much fatter than yesterday. How the fuck have I managed to think it’s ok to not count calories/weigh myself etc.? It’s not ok. I’m going to gain weight. Fuck’s sake Ellie. Plus I’ve stepped down a nicotine patch this week so I’m burning fewer calories. Maybe that’s why I’m hungrier. I shouldn’t eat more cereal because of that. I’ll be fat then. I’m already fat. I’ll get even fatter. And quickly. That’s what happens when you quit smoking. I need to lose some weight just to be sure. I can drop a few pounds easy. Greedy idiot. Why did I eat that cereal? Why? Now everyone will think I’m useless because I have no control. Everyone already does. It was too much. So what I’m hungry and thinking about food a whole lot more. Doesn’t matter really, it’s not a reason to eat. It’s because of quitting smoking. I have to eat less anyway because my metabolism is slowing anyway. Useless person. Can’t even get my body right. Everyone knows I’m useless. They see my failure on my flesh. If I can’t get my body right, how can I get anything else right? Why did I eat that much cereal. I’ll make up for it today. I have to make up for it. Fuck

This is my brain. All day. Whenever it stops, I just have nothing at all. I’ve managed a small breakfast and lunch. I’m starving now. I don’t know what to do. I did manage a diet hot chocolate though, on top of what I’d planned. Even that was hard today. But if I stop for just a second, I don’t have anything. I don’t know. This is a rant and a mood I think.

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damage limitation.

I am literally so bored with the Queen. She’s a kinda tedious old lady. Plus I really don’t think that having all those boats was such an impressive deal. I was expecting really great, entertaining boats with funny statues on and stuff. Instead, it just seemed to be a lot of people rowing. Yet somehow, that was the only thing on the news from the moment I woke up this morning. Still, I won’t pretend I’m not jealous of those people who got Fortnum & Maison’s lunch at the Piccadilly street party. Though saying that, they did have to meet Prince Charles and sing the national anthem which I don’t think I would have handled with anything but contempt. Instead, I watched Charlotte’s Web, which is a terrible adaptation of a book I actually really like. Next up is Celebrity Deal or No Deal with McFly. Sunday’s should be better than this. Maybe I should change the channel. If I’m lucky, Come Dine With Me will be on. Come Dine With Me is always on. And I really don’t want to do any work. I worked all yesterday, and all it made me was angry. Researching the EDL makes me want to spit a little bit.

So anyway, I know I’ve been a bit of a moany moaner these past few weeks. I’ve been feeling pretty low and haven’t yet found a way to feel less low. So I continue to feel low and try to limit the damage. It’s not exactly ok, but I think I’ve got to start playing the damage limitation game to keep myself functioning. I keep doing things that I know will make me feel worse in the long run because it seems easier in the short-term. For once, none of this is about food, though I will admit one of these things is walking. So here are the tips I’m going to try to follow in order to keep myself as healthy and well as possible until I work out what I have to do to actually fix the things I’m finding overwhelming and painful. None of this is exactly a long-term fix, and some of it is purely avoidance strategies, but right now, I have to do something.

  • Don’t drink alcohol or takes drugs. I know this sounds like an awful, no fun Ellie idea, but I actually think that this might be necessary. In fact, it’s this point which is my main reason for posting this – other people knowing about it might mean they’ll help me to not get trashed. Every time I let myself give a little, I end up completely trashed. Even if I’m positive I won’t. And it’s basically every time I see anyone. I know I’m using it to be less self-conscious, but I need to keep that level of self-conscious to not hate myself entirely for days and days. It stays with me and it’s all I can think about. I hate the person I am when I let my intense amount of self-policing and anxiety lessen slightly. I hate it and it makes me feel horrible. It makes me hate seeing my friends. Thing is, I know I’ll probably give up on this as soon as someone offers me a drink. But on some level, I know it’s not actually worth it. And it’s not forever, its temporary management of my mental health. It used to be worth it. I think I just more time to look after my brain rather than frazzle it a couple of times a week. We’ll see. I predict failure I won’t lie.
  • Keep myself in situations I feel safe in. This basically involves staying the fuck away from anything I know I’ll find stressful. I have real problems with social things and I know that, in general, I’m going to have to work on this. Thing is, I’ve been trying. I’ve been putting myself in situations I know will be hard for me, with people who I feel particularly judged and disliked by in the hope that I’ll get over my hang-ups eventually. Well apparently I’m not getting over it any time soon and it’s making me feel awful. People are so difficult and all I can do for days and days is go over exactly what I did wrong and why evenyone will hate me now. I always just dissociate from the situation. I don’t feel in control and all I feel after is shame. And I really don’t cope well with any of this. So safety first. I don’t want to isolate myself entirely, but maybe it’d be better to keep my socializing within small groups of people I know pretty well. Stay away from scenarios in which my brain panics and I stop being able to keep track of what’s happening. Sometimes that happens with people I know well, but I think fully isolating myself is only going to make matters worse.
  • Use my support systems. Use the support offered from the CMHT, even if I don’t think it’ll help. Maybe it will. Call Samaritans if I need to. Call my friends. Speak to my family. Other people can help diffuse the moment. They might not be able to fix the problem, but if they can help me get out of destructive cycles, maybe it’s worth it. They might all judge me and think I’m awful and dramatic and lying, but I think there’s a net gain as when I’m left to my own devices, I start getting worked up and fast headed and panic.
  • Look after myself. When I’m start feeling bad, I let my routines and self-care slide a bit. I’m going to try to keep on top of this. Shower, wash my face, tone, moisturize, put on comfy, but still socially acceptable clothing, take my medications, chew as much nicotine gum as I could possibly want, get out the house every day, eat enough and eat regularly (with lots of good, nutritious food), don’t skip out on yoga etc.. All of these things make me feel physically better and if I do the things that make me feel physically better, I’ll give myself fewer reasons to feel mentally worse. All these little things build up and once I let one slide, others start sliding. If I don’t leave the house, I might not bother wearing nice clothes, so might not bother properly looking after my skin, so don’t bother with my acne medications, etc. Keeping on top of it will only help.
  • Minimise repercussions of SI. Obviously working on stopping is the way forward, especially as recently this has been getting more of a problem again. This involves spending a pretty hefty amount of money, but I think will be worth it. For me, this means, good wound care and good scar care. It’s worth spending extra, and the effort and expense are deterrents. Menolin pads, microporous tape, steri-strips, Savlon Advanced Healing Gel (I swear by this product), Savlon Wound Wash, gauze, TCP, Duo Derm (I swear by this too) and crepe bandages for the immediate care. Bio oil, vitamin E squeezed out of its capsules, heavy-duty foundation, concealer and powder, a little bottle of Elnette and a good foundation brush for scar reduction and speedier fading. All these products cost the earth. Seriously. But worth it if I can actually get my body out at some point over summer. And I’m doing good at SI reduction right now – 10 days free so far, so maybe I won’t have to buy much more.
  • Journal. Whenever I start having a worse time, I start journaling less. This doesn’t mean I write less though. Instead of giving myself specific journal time, I start catching parts of my day. I’ll stop halfway through something to scribble a couple of paragraphs on nearby bits of paper. All that I end up with is a pile of incoherent babble that doesn’t help me work through my emotions, but rather records a whole load of desperation without any insight. When I’m feeling more stable (which unfortunately corresponds well with eating less, so most of my journals from the past few years are pretty one track minded), I journal every day, right now, with my general mood, plus alcohol and drugs thrown in to the mix (I tend to journal at night), I’m lucky if I make time twice a week. Making the time will help me work out my emotions and hopefully give me a better idea of the what I’m actually finding so difficult.
  • Keep walks to an hour or less. Going for an emotional stomp is pretty much a necessity in my life. It’s not just for the calorie burn, although that does play a part in it. It’s mostly an escape. It’s better when I run, but I’m still not sure I can do that too much without consequences. I love running, but every time I try I start to obsess and beat myself up for not going far/fast enough because I don’t feel I’ve pushed myself enough. This has left me kinda scared of it. Even though a 15 minute run would be the same as an hour walk in terms of stress busting, that’s not enough. I duno. Walking isn’t the same though – I’m already good at it and I don’t get the same almighty rush so it’s less addictive. Maybe I should start doing mini runs to save time. I duno. The point isn’t about what exercise I should or shouldn’t introduce, but the fact that I heavily rely on physical outlets for difficult emotions. Getting a good stomp on is an avoidance strategy, but it’s one that works and is a lot less harmful psychologically and physically than SI or restriction, as long as I keep it low intensity or relatively short. My body is strong enough to handle it without doing damage and I’m not losing weight. Just as long as I keep it to more reasonable timeframes. Once we start hitting the three-hour of walking mark, I get blisters and my joints ache. It’s not worth it.
  • Take some days off of work. I probably work too much and my deadline is in September, so I have time to take a day or two off each week, or even just having light work days. Rather than stressing myself out constantly because I’m not getting enough done due to my difficulty concentrating, so working pretty constantly and giving myself no chance to recharge, stepping back sometimes. Today, I am recharging. No work. At all.
  • Do something nice for myself every day. Be it a nice bath if I can manage it, painting my nails, spending time doing something pointlessly crafty, making some special food, buying myself a cheap present. Whatevz. Just one nice thing a day will probably do me the world of good. I often forget. This will actually be really hard. I tend to treat myself pretty awfully sometimes.
  • Stay away from confusing people. I’ll probably fail at this one.
  • Get that piercing. I’ve been wanting it for ages and it’ll make me feel better. On my list of things I like about my physical appearance, my piercings are number two. It’ll only give me more to like.

So there you have it, my list of damage limitation ideas. It doesn’t address the problems, but it’s caring for myself enough to get through this difficult bit and hope I’ll be able to find ways to actually deal with it soon. A lot of it is avoidance, but the kind of avoidance I hope leads to me treating myself a little better and putting myself in situations I feel safer in. It’s not a perfect and it might not work, but right now I kinda feel like I’m making things worse and just ruining any chance I have of feeling better. So I’m hoping this’ll lead to a more manageable set of emotions rather than giving myself reasons and opportunities to freak out. We’ll see. What do you think? Do you reckon any of these are really bad ideas? Or do you have any to add to the list? I’d like a couple of opinions please.

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paranoid.

If you ever even mention the word paranoid to mental health professionals, they automatically seem to worry that you’re entering the world of paranoid delusions. I don’t really know where pathological paranoia ends and healthy, normal level paranoia begins, but it can be pretty distressing at any level I think and seeing as I don’t believe the government are watching me through the radio or anything, it gets dismissed as something no one seems to have to worry about.

I think like a lot of people, I get paranoid. Quite often. For me, I think it’s all based on the innate belief that I’m really terrible, so it’s all related to friends and acquaintances. And the problem with paranoia is that it’s kinda untestable, so you can never know if it’s true.

I get really paranoid when I find out two people I introduced to each other talk and hang out without any acknowledgement of my existence. Firstly, it just makes me feel awful. I don’t do anything about it and don’t say anything, but I can’t help the fact that I get incredibly uncomfortable. I like to have some sort of control over what people know about me and the fact that the me I am in one situation might be divulged in another situation makes me feel so unwell. I get really tense and feel sick. Sick seems to be my standard emotion at the moment. I don’t even know if sick is an emotion but I feel it all the time. I like to (incredibly unfairly) have some sort of control over how I’m presented and in these scenarios, I lose it. Thus in a roundabout way, I like to have some level of control over other people’s interactions, which is entirely unfair I know. I don’t act on it because I know it’s wrong and I try to put it behind me and not let it effect my relationships. I won’t pretend it never has any effect, but I really know it’s not acceptable. I get convinced they’re going to talk about me and figure out that I’m not really a coherent person but that I have no real identity and no real personhood. That essentially, there isn’t a me inside and that there isn’t a personality.

I also get really paranoid about the fact that they didn’t go through me for other reasons. I start to feel like they’ve got what they need from me and now don’t want or need me around. That they never really liked me in the first place and now they’re got someone better, I’m not worth it. This is a horrible thought process because I start getting really devastated. People I care about and thought liked me suddenly haven’t got any need for me any more. I’m only worth what I can supply someone with and the links I can help them make. Everyone knows that. Once they’ve got enough, they’ll have no need for me. And eventually I’ll be alone because no one will have any need for me. And I honestly can’t think about it logically. I know that people will read this and say “that’s not true you know” but to me, the logic and evidence all points to the fact that it is. I do look for evidence that it isn’t the case, and only come up against the evidence that I’m not worth the effort and will be ditched at some point once anything I can offer has been exhausted. I offer different people different amounts, so it takes some people longer than others to get through it, but the outcome will be the same in the end. It always is. I become redundant.

It’s a kinda common fact that, more often than not, people bond over their common links, which in these situations do include knowing me. Laughing about me, bitching, gossiping, focusing on everything bad about me and deciding they really just hate me seems like the logical outcome. I become the joke, the annoying one, the ugly one, the needy one. Whatever one I become, it can’t possibly be good. There isn’t really enough good for anyone else to notice. I fully believe that by putting two people together, all their negative and entirely justified opinions of me will be verified as acceptable, relieving them of any guilt that might have in believing their negative, hurtful things. They’ll learn that it’s ok to hate me because other people do too. And thus not only will I lose friends, I’ll gain people who actively dislike me, rather than just not caring enough.

Recently, I’ve also discovered there’s a party hosted by one of my best friends. I’ve not been told about it. Not only have I not been told, but I’ve also been arranging to see her and was the way she got the contact numbers to invite others. It’s not like she’s forgotten, but for whatever reason, she’s decided I shouldn’t be there. Now I don’t know how to feel. It makes me wonder whether I should be annoyed. I thought she really liked me and all that stupid rubbish so I’m hurt she doesn’t want me. At the same time I struggle to place the blame on her at all. I’m not annoyed. She’s just decided that actually, she’s had enough of me. I’d embarrass her in front of her friends. I would be too much effort. I’d bring the party down. Everyone will have a shit time if I show up. She’s discovered that actually, I’m really awful. I’m not worth her time. All of these things make perfect sense to me.

Now I know I probably shouldn’t be annoyed of so critical of myself – there are probably other reasons because people aren’t mean and I’m not as awful as I think I am. Except the thing is, logically I can’t find any evidence that I’m not awful. I am. In every way. Because all I am is a whole load of lies. It’s not like I can possibly be anything else because there’s nothing else inside. Without lies, I’m predominantly hollow. I don’t consciously do it, but it there’s nothing there, you have to make up something appealing enough so that know one notices you don’t actually have an identity and that even your thoughts and memories don’t feel like your own. I lie to myself in my head with my thoughts. Everything in this post seems like a lie even though I’m trying so hard to be honest. I can’t though, because I don’t have genuine thoughts and feelings, only thoughts and feelings I convince myself I have to appear like the person I want to present. I was never even sick. I made it up and acted it out and even convinced myself of it because I wanted to present that to others. I don’t know why I would though. I haven’t got reasons wanting that outcome. But I don’t have anything but lies so that must be a lie too.

Nothing really happens and nothings really true. I have no facts because I watch my life happen without me and I have no personhood or true thought. I know this can’t be true. There has to be some facts. But this is how I experience the world. So I’m paranoid. Paranoid everyone hates me because I can’t even create something good. That everyone knows and can’t wait to forget me. And I can’t find anything that verifies otherwise. Because other people lie so to not hurt your feelings. It makes any of the words anyone ever says inherently untrustable. Obviously, unless they’re being horrible, it’s all lies. The negative stuff is true, but anything positive anyone says to me is probably a lie. Because they’re all so nice that they wouldn’t want to hurt me. But I already know and it hurts me anyway.

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stunted.

So this is my sixth attempt at writing a blog post. I literally do have five other posts written and edited that I’m unable to publish.

I think I may have come to a bit of a stale mate with blogging. See, I really like blogging. I like the processes of writing things out for an audience because you get practical feedback, it shows you’re not the only one and, in trying to explain things, thought processes become clearer and it can help find the right course of action. I’ve found the whole process having a blog really useful and I’m not willing to give up entirely yet. Plus there are some nang bloggers I’d like to keep in this peculiar type of contact with.

Problem is, I just can’t. I can’t bring myself to actually publish anything, not for lack of pointless things to say, but because I don’t want anyone to have any sort of opinion on it. I’ve gotten very self-conscious over my internet self. And my actual self. Basically all selves. I can’t post the things I want to say because others might judge me and I’d rather not be judged. I don’t want anyone to have an opinon of me next time I see/type/speak to them. In the grand scheme of blogging, this makes it hard to post. It also makes it hard to comment because I’m pretty sure that anything I have to say will make everyone sigh and think “God, that idiot. Again. Jeez. Leave me alone.” I’ve got blogging anxiety.

I can relate this to my actual life too. I’m finding it increasingly difficult to talk to anyone. I’m deeply ashamed of any interaction I have because I think that every time I do interact with someone, they think I’m an idiot. Then I read into their responses or non-responses as them letting me know I’m an idiot and that they think less of me now. For example, if send a text and get no response, its because I’m infuriating and they have much better things to do then bother with me. I need them more than they need me and they know it and wish they didn’t have to speak to me because I get in the way. If they respond, it’s will hidden digs at me, letting me know that I’m annoying them just by contacting them because they don’t have the time for stupid me. This isn’t some sort of attempt to get you real peeps to treat me different though, because honestly, there is no way to interact with me which doesn’t end up with the same outcome.

A lot of this all comes down to the fact that actually, I’m managing to do remarkably awful right now. Not with food, but other things. Thing is, I can say or post things, but I have no right course of action and I really don’t think I’d be able to follow any practical feedback and honestly, if anyone feels the same way I do, they’d probably be having just as much difficulty trying to communicate it. Social stuff is all just feeding off other things that makes everything horrible and make me actually really scared. But I can’t talk about any of this. Because people might judge. They might think different of me. They might think I’m being too drama or annoying or I’m lying or boring or too difficult etc. And the more you build up all this, the more likely it is to actually happen.

So instead of talking to anyone (like I know I definitely should), I get more and more self-conscious and find it harder and harder to interact with anyone. Maybe this’ll prove the end off my blogging career. Or my social career more generally. I hope not.

Even though this is a little pointless, I’m going to publish this just to prove that I can still click that little blue button.

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