Infinite sadness

Standard

I don’t think I can deal with it, it’s not the acutely crushing lows, it’s how blandly hopeless my life has become. I live in the past, mourning lost opportunities and reliving over and over the pain of being cast out. Sometimes the realization that things I ruminate about are 5 or even 10 years past hits me like a hammer blow. Why can’t I move on? Why must I be trapped forever in this adolescent mindset of rejection and alienation? Everyone else has moved on, lived life, but I am still the same. I fear I always will be and this is no way to live. I don’t want to play out 40 years of disconsolate loserdom.

I dream of joyously taking my own life. I think it’s safe to say I have romanticised the idea of suicide; unfortunately I have nothing else to realisticly hope for but a sweet release from this anhedonia.

Sick

Standard

I don’t know if it’s the venlafaxine but I feel incredibly nauseous.  I feel even more sick when I think about myself and my life instead of distracting myself from things. It’s going to be hard if I have to keep distracted in order to stop feeling suicidal.

I have to go back and meet the damn crisis team tomorrow and I feel stressed about it already, all I want to do is sleep tomorrow, and forever really. I don’t want to be me, it’s too depressing.

There’s no future for me, not one I want to live. The same old things haunt me and bother me every day, things that can’t be resolved. I feel like I want to scream but of course such outbursts of emotion aren’t for me. There’s no way I can explain it to the stupid crisis team, some people who I will probably never see again. It probably seems easy for me to complain, goodness knows I do enough of it on this site, but in real life it’s incredibly hard for me.

I can’t just come out and say that I want to die and I feel ill when I see myself in the mirror and knowing I will always be alone and unloved makes me want to cry. I couldn’t look them in the eye after saying that. I don’t know what they could possibly do or say, not to mention my flatmates could overhear.

It’s not a crisis, there’s no urgency here, just a tiredness and realisation that I’m going to have a shit life (by my own ridiculous standards, I know other people have things much harder and a billion times more problems than me). I don’t know how much longer I can deal with it.

New Psychiatrist and Self Loathing

Standard

After a 1 hour 20 minute wait with the Daily Express for company (ugh) I finally got to go in and see the psychiatrist I’ve been transferred to. He seemed like a pleasant enough guy, he listened patiently while I answered the same questions that I’ve been asked seemingly hundreds of times. When, where and how I get anxious, what I was like at school and so on.

One of his questions threw me though. He asked whether I was sexually active, something nobody else has felt necessary to enquire about (it’s evident that I am not just by looking at me) and when I responded no he asked when I last was. I thought the uncomfortable silence and throat clearing might have tipped him off but I had to say the horrible words myself; “I never have been”. He seemed rather taken aback by this and later on asked if I have or ever had a girlfriend and later on made one of the most ludicrous suggestions I have heard yet. “You should have sex” he said. As if it was something so simple, that I could go out and do on the way back after I pop out to the shops or something. I don’t know whether he has some kind of logical disconnect, I’d already explained to him that I cannot even talk to or form friendships with the people in my classes whom I see every day.

It will improve your self esteem, he tells me. You will enjoy it. No shit. I want to scream out in anger and furious jealously every time someone talks about having relationships, one night stands or whatever like anyone can just go out and do it. This stuff made me feel that horrible pain deep inside. Not the dull hopelessness, the “I want to kill myself right now rather than live another second as this pathetic creature” feeling. He commented on my age and told me that I need to change and stop accepting other people’s opinions of me as 100% accurate and form my own opinions about myself. At this point there is no difference though. I don’t know if there is a philosophical term for how I feel, but to me, nothing matters except what other people think. If all that mattered was how good you felt about yourself then insane people who think they are Napoleon or whatever would be considered the worlds most sucessful and aspirational figures, not the talented and attractive people we actually do look up to.

I was too saddened and quite shocked to explain to him the grim reality of being such a loser. It doesn’t take long to find examples of what a crap situation I am in. Even the examples in these sites (there is very little material out there that doesn’t refer to that film which name haunts me or religious claptrap about older virgins) don’t address the extra layer of utter pathetic inexperience that I unfortunately possess. I am a million miles away from even kissing a girl and I’m twenty-fucking-four. Has anyone ever been so god damned sheltered, ugly and such a loser and recovered from it? I sincerely doubt it unless a lottery win was involved somehow.

I really honestly want to kill myself whenever this topic enters my head. I’m probably about to make myself sound like a horrible snob here but I feel seething jealousy whenever I’m in my local town, which is a grotty place full of single teenage mothers and chavs and I see prospectless, petty criminals who manage to have some kind of relationship and I know that I never will. It’s times like that when I HATE myself for not realising earlier what life is all about and what you need to be successful. Hindsight is so wonderful. I wish I could travel back in time and tell my 11 year old self that being “clever” doesn’t count for shit in this world. It’s all about making connections with people and being outspoken and confident. Don’t waste fucking time being a goody good and thinking that not getting involved with usual teenage activities makes you superior. It makes you liable to turn out into a fucked up waste of a space that I am now.

I seriously might as well be a robot. I doubt anyone would notice. I have no capacity for forming relationships. I’m far too ugly and un-humanlike to ever have any hope whatsoever of getting with any girl. I can only bear the crushing realisations and watch my dreams torn down in front of my eyes in quiet reserved fashion for so much longer. I’m like the shy teen that never grew up, everyone else around me became adults and now people 5 years younger than me have overtaken me too.

I’m sick, so fucking sick of being such a useless sack of shit. Why do they want me to live like this? So I’ll devastate my parents if I kill myself, do they think about how devastating it is to live every single day as me? I wish I could make them try it for a few months. Days and days on end with not so much as a conversation, let alone any physical contact. Respect and being treated as a social equal? Forget it.

I genuinely wish I hadn’t left my pills at uni, it’d be risky being discovered too soon here but I really don’t think I can take much more of this. Damn that stupid bridge barrier.

Who am I, really?

Standard

I’m not bipolar or cyclothymic or anything like that (hypo/mania is thankfully something I don’t have to deal with.) My mood isn’t steady though, within 48 hours I have been the happiest I’ve been in years and back to suicidal again. I’m not over dramatising, I was cursing my luck that I left the pills at my university flat last night and the last train back had already gone.

People seem insistent that I should be the “happy” me and that when I’m down it’s the fault of depression, cause unknown. What if I am the sad person and when I’m happy it’s an aberration? Even when I’ve been in a good mood, I don’t suddenly find life wonderful and valuable. I don’t thank my lucky stars that I didn’t kill myself 2 weeks ago, or even 3 years ago when I first seriously planned to. Things are better than they were back then but not so good that I’d willingly go through it again.

Maybe I’m just one of those people who is always going to be unhappy, it seems more likely to me every day. I can imagine that if I won the lottery or something then I’d still be miserable. Perhaps it’s just who I am, but I don’t want to be that person.

I don’t know when I’ll feel suicidal next, it could be tomorrow or even later this evening. (I wrote this next bit in an email to someone, hope they don’t mind me reusing it) I am worried that if I feel like that again, I might go the whole way next time. Each time I have gotten closer and to be honest (if you ignore the fact that I wouldnt be here to say this) I wouldn’t be hugely regretful if I had killed myself a couple of weeks ago. I haven’t suddenly found life to be wonderful, I just don’t feel quite so crushed that action needs to be taken to end it. I have the energy to carry on for a bit more, but I don’t really know why I’m bothering other than I am worried about an OD going wrong or being paralysed if I jump. It’s hard to explain how I feel and I’m not sure a rational, sane person would understand but that’s the best I can do.

I wish my family hated me so I didn’t have anything holding me back, I’d honestly rather get this over and done with if it wasn’t for the fact that it’d upset them. As things stand, I’m just edging closer and closer towards the point where wanting to escape becomes stronger than not wanting to upset my family. I wonder how long they want me to keep up the pretense that I enjoy and want to live.

The crisis team are coming to see me tomorrow afternoon, the right thing to do would be tell them this, but I realise I can’t verbalise it properly. I feel ashamed that I want to die because I have things so easy compared to people with real problems. Perhaps I could write it down but I still have bad memories of trying that on my first GP appointment and him refusing to read it. I’m pretty sure I know what their answer will be; “The CBT will help you address this”. But I have major doubts it will change my attitude to life.

I don’t want to come over all nihilist, but I don’t see any value in my life. I want to know why people want to live so much, I fear I already know the answer and it’s because they experience things I have never and never will, things like true friendship, feeling a part of something, having someone who loves you.

Last night I annoyed one of my online friends by talking about this. I have a hard time believing that a fat, ugly, boring, inexperienced, lifeless, suicidal, depressive, quiet, immature, loner who has never managed so much as a kiss on the cheek in 24 years of life will be able to find a girlfriend. I can back all those adjectives up by the way.

What on earth would any girl want to do with a person like that? There isn’t really much more I could do or be in order to become less attractive.

I remember another boy in school who used to get made fun of because he never had a girlfriend when we were 15. In retrospect, that was pretty harsh and at that age being in such a situation probably isn’t too uncommon. The thing is, there will be girls around that age who haven’t had a boyfriend either and even the ones who do won’t expect much maturity from teenage lads (if they do, they’ll probably be disappointed). At 24 though, things are rather different. I suspect discovering that a guy who was still a virgin at that age would raise a lot of red flags, there must be something wrong if it’s not for religious reasons (I could make a point about the foolishness of such reasons but I don’t want to get even more sidetracked.)

I think women in their mid twenties have justifiably higher expectations from men than teenage girls. My friend tells me that it’s never too late to catch up, but I don’t see how it’s possible. When my parents were my age they’d been married 5 years, I know of people that went to my school in years below who have families now. It’s almost impossible to explain how utterly inadequate these things make me feel.

That 15 year old boy was probably nervous the first time he kissed a girl, but the odds of his partner being in a similar situation (according to the data I’ve found, assuming they are the same age) were reasonable so there would be the benefit of knowing that they were both in the same situation. I have to ask myself what girl (assuming they are insane enough to get past all the other crap and somehow like me) would put up with such inexperience from a person of my age? That’s just one simple example, I have no idea how to be in any kind of relationship.

In my whole life I’ve never talked about sex with anyone. I can’t remember when I found out the mystery of where babies come from but I wasn’t so sheltered that I had to learn in year 8 science class. People have made me feel as though I’m not allowed to think of myself as a sexual being though. That is a laughable thought. I’ve never talked to any of my “friends” (post coming about them later, it’s ok you can return from the edge of your seats now) at school about girls because to everyone there I was a non-person. Just a laughable entity who worked and got made fun of occassionally. During the whole time I was at high school I never once started a conversation with a girl and I only spoke when spoken to.

It was incredibly difficult for me to write that paragraph, I still can’t see myself as a person who deserves or is capable of forming that kind of relationship with a person. I am human though and I’m not assexual. I have a lot of issues, obviously and it seems to me that as I get older and older the chances of coming across someone who can accept such immaturity and inexperience are becoming exponentially less.

Another Psych Appointment

Standard

I’m seeing the consultant psychiatrist tomorrow and I’m getting quite worried about it. First of all, I have to explain why I got my mum to phone and ask for me to see someone different to the new Dr I was assigned to (see this post for what happened with him) which is going to be difficult because the consultant is so intense and intimidating to me. I’m also not looking forward to talking about my suicidal feelings. It makes things so much harder because I’m living in two separate places. The crisis team here won’t be able to check up on me at university, and I haven’t had any dealings with the mental health services at Lincoln so they don’t have any of my notes or whatever else they need.

I have mixed feelings about discussing it, I’d really like to stop feeling like this is my only way out of feeling so depressed and miserable but I honestly can’t see how anyone can help me. I don’t want to have the option taken away from me, I need to be able to know that I have an escape. If I tell him about how I have obtained the pills then I fear what might happen to me. I don’t want to be taken to hospital, I can’t afford to miss any more university.

Sometimes I wonder what the point is, I have no reason to believe that anyone or anything can help me with my particular problems. An hour of CBT once a month isn’t going to make me into a normal person. Even when I’m not feeling actively suicidal, I still think that there is no hope for me and I still want to die. I just can’t let people see otherwise I’ll upset them. Is there any way to escape from long term suicidal desires? It seems like it’ll always be with me. I wish I could be killed in an accident so that I could escape without having to inflict the extra pain on my family of them knowing it was self inflicted.

Harsh Truth

Standard

Last night I was in a fog, depression had taken over and I couldn’t see past it. I don’t know if anyone else feels like this and whether its a recognised thing or not, but I seem to experience two kinds of sadness/despair. Last night I couldn’t think beyond what depression was making me feel, but in reality there was still a glimmer of relief there which is probably why I didn’t go through it. A little part of me wanted to believe there was a chance, that maybe my thoughts are distorted. Right now though I am thinking more clearly and I’ve realised how much of a hard situation I’m in. Maybe it is possible to change enough to be normal and accepted, if http://www.succeedsocially.com/ is right then maybe people can change enough. Would it make me happy though? I have no idea because if I was to change that much, I simply wouldn’t be “me” any more. There are some things I can’t change, no matter how well I dressed for example, I’d never ever be able to reach “average looking” status or even just plain ugly.

It’s obvious now that there’s no way I’m ever going to be able to function in the world as I am but I don’t know if I can or want to change enough to make it possible. A feeling of overwhelming dread, fear and sickness rushes over me when I read the things on that site. It’s not the usual feel-good nonsense that people try to tell you, it’s the truth. People don’t like loners, they don’t like losers or ugly people, they don’t like serious people. You have to be childish and act like a drunken idiot. Of course I knew this all along but no-one would admit it to me. I can’t stomach trying to change myself into that, I feel physically ill.

This doesn’t even begin to cover how bad I felt having read this site (I promise this isn’t a dig against the commenter who pointed it out to me, i’m glad you did). I just want to die right now. Every page on there just serves to highlight how much of a broken, idiotic disgusting and useless shell of a person I am. I have no existing contacts to draw on, I’m the exact opposite of everything you should be and do to be socially acceptable.

I am finding it hard to express just how cut up and defeated I feel. I’m utterly sick and revolted by myself, I hate every fibre of my being. I’m too cowardly to even do the honourable thing and instead just mope around here and hope for sympathy and brief social contact with strangers on the internet. I don’t deserve to live, I wish I could never have been born. It’s too hard to pretend I’m ok any more, but what can I do? If I mess my university course up by telling the doctors then I’ll have absolutely no reason to go on, that is all that keeps me getting out of bed most mornings. All I can do is try to get up the nerve to kill myself or carry on upsetting and lying to everyone around me. I don’t know anyone outside my family well enough to discuss things with them and my family get too upset, for obvious reasons. Nobody wants the reclusive flatmate you barely see to knock on your door in tears and say they want to kill themselves. I’m alone and stuck.