I’m alive, just.

I think far too much. I know that last week, during the time I was at university I said less than 10 words to people. Nothing beyond meaningless greetings and empty thanks. I’ve fallen back into old habits in some ways, I listen through doors to make my getaway while no-one is around to stop me and enter into the awkwardness of a corridor conversation. I still have no friends in any of my classes and I move further from that with every passing day. I’ve spoken to someone on facebook but they don’t even acknowledge my existence in real life, probably to ashamed to let it be known they ever associated with me. I miss meals, hoard glasses and rubbish for days before daring to emerge from my hideaway.

I’m stuck. Apparently they don’t want to take me on for CBT until the suicidal thoughts stop. I don’t know how I can stop them if I can’t make any progress with these problems, assuming it’s all (or at least a major part) in my head like people keep telling me. I’m not so sure about that, I think people are just reluctant (or contractually bound not to) tell me that I’m a hideous looking screw up who is far too damaged to ever have a chance at being acceptable to people. Now I am in a dilemma, either I lie to my psychiatrist and hope CBT comes through soon, or I tell the truth and get nowhere. They can’t help me except by cramming pills down my throat but that doesn’t fix anything. I can’t call the crisis team, I’m not having a crisis. I don’t think there’s a line for people that slowly but surely fucked their lives up completely and are beginning to realise that it is far too late and a life of solitary misery is all that awaits them.

The usual disclaimer about me knowing how fortunate I am and how lucky I am compared to 99% of the world applies. I feel guilty about it every day already, don’t try to make me feel worse.

Getting “help”

I’ve all but given up on making this blog useful, apologies if you came here expecting something helpful.

I had another psychiatrist appointment last week. I faced the dilemma that many people with mental illness have to deal with; whether to say the right things, jump through their metaphorical hoops and and take the easy way out, or whether to face up to the hard task of telling it how it is and facing the consequences of that. Last time I took the first approach, she seemed quite pleased with the progress I was making. In the days leading up to my latest appointment though, I’ve been feeling extremely hopeless and suicidal again. It often seems to disappear as soon as I get the chance to talk to someone about it and I feel like I’m being overly dramatic by bringing it up but this time I was determined to speak the truth about it.

I haven’t been feeling the desperation that I did before, I don’t feel the need to go out there this minute and do it, it’s more of a realisation what my life is going to be like. The horrible truth hangs over me every day, reinforced more and more with every failed social interaction, every rejection, every person staring and laughing. I feel crushing jealousy as I see people with friends, even glancing at groups studying together brings out a great sadness in me. I am totally alone here, and everywhere except in my home. I can no longer see how I’m going to get past the fact that I am hopelessly socially retarded, my appearance scares people and I am incredibly boring. There’s too much to overcome before anyone would even be remotely interested in knowing me, never mind the fact that I’ve already established myself as the weirdo loner here. It could be worse, at least I know a couple of people’s names, but I never dare interrupt their groups to talk to them, even if I could think of something to say.

I managed to tell the psychiatrist that I have been having the thoughts again and then of course I had to talk to the terrifying consultant. He’s incredibly intense, always staring and picks apart everything you say. I already over analyse the way I say every single thing to make sure it’s no misinterpreted but he sends me into overdrive. It can take me 30 seconds to answer a simple question, I get scared he’s going to get angry at what I say, especially after he smashed his fist on the table after I deigned to ask about anti-anxiety medication. The end result of it all was that he didn’t seem to think I was serious about it and just upped my venlafaxine to 225mg and said I’d benefit from one to one psychotherapy. I was referred a couple of months ago but still haven’t heard anything.

I don’t know what to do with myself now. I wish it was possible to transfer a confident person into my situation (of course no normal person would be in this position in the first place) and see what they’d do. I simply have no idea. I could carry on going to lectures, sitting alone and speaking to no-one for practically the entire week. I’m scared of the people my flatmates bring around here, I’ve missed several meals because I’ve been too afraid to leave my room and go into the loud, social atmosphere of the kitchen.

I’m so screwed up, laughter scares me now. If I here a group of people (especially men) laughing it just triggers a fear response inside me. I suppose it’s some kind of Pavlovian response after all the years of mocking and torment but I wish I didn’t feel like it. I don’t have a clue how I’m ever going to be normal*.

* Now I know the usual response to this is that “nobody is normal” or normal people aren’t interesting, but that’s not what I mean. I think most people would agree it is pretty normal to have at least one friend. It’s reasonably normal to be capable of going out somewhere without being crippled by fear of being laughed at and humiliated. I’d love to have someone to talk to, who I didn’t feel like I had to put on a show just to seem like less of a freak to.

I was asked some difficult questions by the consultant; “Have you ever had any close friends?” Not since I was a young child. He asked about when I was about 15; “Lads have mates who they go out and do ‘lad’ things with” he said. Not me. I had people I hung around with in school because I was too scared to leave them (they bullied me as much or worse than the other people) but I never had the slightest desire to spend any more time than absolutely necessary with them. I never saw them outside of school. I’ve been a loner for the vast majority of my life, but that isn’t how I want to be. I’d say the problem is probably made worse by two enormous problems. First, I am not the kind of person people like. I’m no fun to be around, I’m far too quiet and I don’t like drunkenness and parties, I look hideous, I’m probably too arrogant and élitist in my own introverted way. Second, I lack the basic skills that seem to come naturally to other people, probably through trial and error when they were younger and social faux-pas weren’t as heavily punished. I find it incredibly hard to explain just how little I know about how to interact with people, a lot of people think they are “shy” or whatever, but I’ve not come across many as socially maladjusted as me. I know nothing about what people do, I know they don’t spend every waking hour reading or on the computer like me but all I have for reference is what I see on TV and in movies (which I do realise aren’t realistic, by the way). I feel completely out of place as a human adult.

Deterioration

I’ve been feeling awful for the past week, I mean really bad – I’ve been planning my suicide seriously. As my university start date gets closer I can’t help thinking about what a disaster it will be if I decide to go. I’m going to struggle for money because I’m having to pay all of the tuition fee myself since they wouldn’t give me a loan for it. I did plan on getting a job as soon as I get there but given how hard it’s been for me to even be considered for an interview over the past 18 months, I wouldn’t hold out too much hope. Then there’s all the other social stuff, I don’t know if I can handle rejection and being a laughing stock to everyone again, I’ve had enough of that at school and work. The course itself is going to be hard, but that’s really the least of my worries.

My life will not be worth living if I can’t get a degree, I’ve already decided that I’m not carrying on living if I can’t go to university now. I cannot stand another year of this, it would be too much. I told someone this, and they said why am I not doing everything I can to get help and go to uni then? The truth is, like I said in my previous post, I truly hate myself and I don’t think that my life is going to turn out any different from the horrible drudgery that it has been for the past 20 years.

Always being alone and unwanted by anyone is a difficult existence. It infuriates me when I hear people say things like “I’ve been single for months now” as if they should be pitied. I have never been loved or found attractive by anyone, I find it hard to pity others when I am fundamentally disgusting and unloveable myself. I’ve never known the happiness of having someone care for me and having someone to care about, I haven’t even ever held a girls hand, let alone kissed anyone. Pretty pathetic for a 23 year old and I doubt things are going to get better, I simply become more of a freak with each passing day.

I don’t want to be saved, and I don’t understand why people insist that I should try to prolong this miserable existence for as long as I can. There is nothing to look forward to except more disappointment. Disappointing my parents with my failures, constant isolation, watching everyone else get on with life and having fun while I just sit here wishing to be dead.

I am a horribly bitter and jealous person now. I feel awful whenever I see people out with friends, and especially couples. It seems as though everyone has at least a little pleasure to look forward too no matter how hard their life is, at least they get to experience friendship and love. I know that I have things a thousand times better than most, I have a roof over my head and food to eat, but it is hard to feel happy when that is it. No living person outside my family cares whether I live or die, I have no experience of intimacy or sharing my thoughts with others. Most people would find it hard to imagine not having a single friend in their teenage or adult life so they probably can’t understand how crushing the loneliness is for me. I recently made a poll on an SA forum that I visit, and even compared to other SA sufferers, I am in the extreme minority because I have gone out to places with people (besides family) less than 5 times since I was 13. Someone there even made fun of me because of it, even to other socially anxious people I am a target for mockery because of my social inadequacy.

Tonight might be the night it all ends, I haven’t decided for sure yet. I’ll have to wait until my mum goes out anyway. Time to finish those notes.

*sigh*

I think I’ve just about destroyed my friendship with SM. I sent her an email today because I was feeling especially down and I must have gone too far because she was really annoyed (justifiably, I’m a depressing lunatic). I ended up writing back, apologising profusely and I suggested that maybe it’s for the best if I don’t talk to her any more. I feel like our friendship has fallen apart over the last couple of months anyway. She never wants to talk and only says the barest minimum and all I ever do is complain about how bad I’m feeling.

I asked her not to mention my suicidal ideation to my family, she got mad and said that I made her feel trapped and frightened before and that’s why she told my sister without my permission. I feel just awful for being so horrible and dumping all this on her, even though she said many times that she didn’t mind listening. I don’t know what I want to get of talking about it to people, but I feel a tiny bit of relief from it. It’s not worth making other people feel that bad though.

I am a terrible person.

Painful Truths

I had another session with the mental health practitioner today, only a week from the last one. We intended to go over my negative thoughts and try to challenge them but I think I ended up frustrating her because I simply cannot believe any alternatives and I think her assessment of what I’m doing to myself is wrong. She thinks that there are 2 sides to me, one that has internalised the voice of the people who bullied me in the past and the real me who never stands up to it. I don’t see it that way though, I just think I am being realistic with myself and not overly critical.

I think it stems from a fear of people thinking that I am vain or full of myself, I am brutally honest about my own shortcomings. When she suggested that I should try and tell the “bully” to shut up and challenge it, it just struck me as impossible because I can’t lie to myself. It would be like trying to tell myself that I am not a man or I don’t have any legs. When I said to her that it would simply be denial, she said I sounded like I was being delusional, which scared me a bit.

We eventually returned to the topic of my suicidal ideation which has come flooding back over the last couple of days. She wanted to know if I had thought about how I might do it (as if I have thought about much else for the past 2 months) and asked me to tell her what method I would use. I simply couldn’t get the words to come out, neither could I explain why it was impossible for me to say them. Thinking it through now, I was afraid of appearing melodramatic in front of her. I can’t bring myself to say “I would jump off a bridge” aloud, it sounds so ridiculous coming from a privileged, spoiled layabout like me. I didn’t want to tell her my other, legally dubious plan either since it involves pharmaceuticals and I don’t want to end up in a hospital against my will. I ended up telling her that I did feel safe to be at home and that I wouldn’t do it, though I’m genuinely not sure whether I will or not. I wrote more on my note to the family and some to my online friends last night, I don’t know if I’ll feel like doing that when the time comes so I want to finish them now.

Enough depressing rambling for now.