Monthly Archives: March 2013

Mired, Giving Up, and Hiding

I just can’t do it anymore. I’m floating, and hiding it is the only thing that keeps me holding on. There’s too much pain in my heart. Not me wallowing in my depression and self-pity, although there is that. It’s pain at everything in the world. Which sounds fake and stupid and cliched, but these days lots of things seem to evoke a throbbing in my heart.

No one can help me. It’s partially my fault because I’m isolating myself, but I can’t stop isolating myself. My anxiety ensures I can’t climb out of the well. I feel like I need love and support from someone, but who? Not my family. They’d probably insist I do things I know won’t help, like live near them or something. I don’t have any friends. Well, I have one, but she’s not the sort of person one can expect the loving type of support from. Fellow bloggers? No. It’s not because I doubt the bloggers I know and am connected to, but it’s because I have nothing to offer at the moment. I haven’t for a couple of months, and I probably won’t for much time to come. I can’t just take, take, take. It’s unfair of me. It would be much kinder, and less selfish, if I just fell off the blogging map altogether. I’m too selfish to read other blogs at the moment and be supportive. So I have no right to take anything. I am a believer of quid pro quo, and I would be a hypocrite, fail in my principles, if I couldn’t participate in a quid-pro-quo way.

I’m not going to kill myself or anything. At least, I don’t think so. But I can’t sustain the status quo, either. But what am I going to do? If I don’t continue the status quo, I won’t be able to forgive myself. I have to go about my life, give a facade to the world as if I am capable. But I’m not capable. I am weak. I can’t even live a normal life like an average person. I can’t handle life, and most people can. I’m at the bottom of the rung of humanity.

I cry easily these days, way too easily. On Tuesday, I accidentally spilled water on my desk at work. My first instinct was to cry, but I held it in. I was with a student, after all. Then I had my therapist appointment later Tuesday. We were talking about Spring Break and my family, and for some reason tears started leaking from my eyes. It was a subdued form of crying because I normally sob as I cry. I didn’t (and don’t) even know why I was crying. My past with my family doesn’t even bother me much anymore. Not that we were talking about the past, although I guess we were since the therapist asked me about their responses to my problems, etc.

I don’t know why, but apparently my behavior at the session prompted the therapist to ask if I’d like another appointment on Thursday. I somewhat froze and got all overanalytical. She asked if I’d call if I needed one, and I said no. She said she’d call on Wednesday to ask about it. This was a nice offer; I can’t imagine any of my past therapists doing that. Maybe it’s because she’s young. Maybe young therapists are good because they haven’t gotten jaded by their job yet or something. Ultimately, I decided against it because, nominally, I am okay. I’m not harming myself or attempting suicide, so I don’t need to waste her time. Besides, I’ll see her again this Tuesday, anyway.

Often the only way I can motivate myself to do things is to tell myself I can be a TV zombie if I finish my task in time. This is not my “normal” personality. Usually, I want to do more than watch TV, but not for the past few weeks, unless you count lying there or sleeping. I can’t motivate myself to write, either here or creatively. Maybe it would help, but I can’t ignite myself, so no.

Funnily, one of the few things that provides me solace right now is watching Supernatural on NetFlix. I started about three weeks ago, and now I’m at the beginning of Season 2. I don’t know why the show often emotionally resonates with me at the moment. Probably because I’m overly emotional in general. I could probably write a post with my thoughts on the show, but then it would look like I’m doing better than I really am.

I also have many thoughts about my therapist (mostly good so far) that I could probably document, if I felt up to it, but I don’t.

But still, I’m not okay, and nobody can help me. I’m all alone, and it’s partially my fault, but I can’t be anything other than what I am. I so wish I could give up in some form–suicide, dropping out of society and just sitting around the house, admitting defeat in some way. I am giving up, but in a waffling, drowning sort of way. As so often happens, the motive to hide and blend in is all that keeps me around.


Filed under Mental Health

Isolationism + Food

I know I’ve been a shoddy blog updater and reader, and chances are that I’ll continue to be. Overall, for the past month, I’ve felt unmotivated. I haven’t done any writing or editing. All I want to do is curl up in a ball, watch TV, sleep, and generally lie there. Then repeat.

If I had friends in real life, I would be isolating right now. I realize that I am still isolating, though, since I’ve basically avoided keeping up with blogging activities. It’s the only way I can isolate since it’s not possible to do so “in real life.”

Oh, yeah, there’s one more thing I want to do. Eat. All the time. The worst food imaginable.

I know I need to lose weight, not just for appearance’s sake, but for my health’s sake. But how can I effing lose weight if I’m eating junk all the time?

I thought it would be easy to quit since I don’t even like fast food all that much. Even now, I buy small portions from the dollar menu; bigger sizes makes me feel a little sick.

But I just can’t. I don’t know what to do. The more I think about it, the more certain I feel about my realization: For me, eating fast food is a form of self-harm. Take, for instance, what happened merely ten or twenty minutes ago. I broke down and started crying. I wanted to find something and cut myself, but I’m not capable of that (except in rare instances). Then I wanted to go out and buy some fast food. I still want to. I’m staving it off, but I’m not sure how long I can do so. Maybe just until I get hungry for dinner.

My compulsive eating is different from self-harm, of course. It’s not like I have a wound or scar from it. Or even a faint cut. I get a short-term high from the taste, feel guilty, eat more, gain weight, and the cycle repeats.

There are things I could actually talk about, like with therapy, for example, but as I said, I’m not feeling an inch motivated. So I’m stopping here and running back to my isolationism.


Filed under Mental Health


My anxiety has been much worse than usual. Well, than usual in the last three years, anyway. No wonder I was barely able to function sometimes. As I am now. But I can’t tell the difference between my anxiety and being lazy.

I’ve been so anxious that I have become lazy. I’ll do practically nothing. I can’t even motivate myself to read other blogs right now . . . the idea fills me with dread, let alone actually liking or commenting on anything.

I don’t even want to post, or feel like I should make a peep, but I also think I should maybe document what’s been happening for the past few days.

I keep getting chronic headaches. Not migraines, though. Still, yesterday I spent almost all day sleeping and kept a blanket over my head.

Driving, I feel anxious. There are too many cars around me, even when the street is practically deserted. If I see a car through my rearview mirror, it looks threatening.

This is all so convoluted and confusing. The anxiety is making me feel depressed. But it’s the anxiety I feel more by far, and it’s the anxiety prompting me to have certain urges.

I wonder if the resurgent intensity of the anxiety is a side effect of Lexapro, but most things I read seem to say Lexapro reduces anxiety.

I keep having urges to self-harm. But I can’t act on them because I’m paranoid about there being visible signs afterward.

And this is where I had a realization of sorts.

You see, I’ve been eating too much fast food again. I don’t even care about the taste . . . I think it’s an addiction. I thought my overeating of fast food was all about taste and comfort until now. Well, perhaps it’s still about comfort.

Here’s my thought process over the past few days: First, I want to self-harm, watch blood oozing out. No, I can’t do that. I can’t risk anyone seeing it afterward. Ugh, this is frustrating. I need to cut, but I can’t. (Why do I think I need to cut, anyway? It wasn’t like I was ever a serious self-harmer. I’ve only cut sporadically, and I probably haven’t cut in over six months. I must be a poser.) Okay. I can’t cut. Ugh. It’s time to get fast food now. No, wait. I shouldn’t get fast food. I’m already disgustingly obese. But I need fast food. No, I don’t. Yes, I do. Even if I feel like crap right now, at least I can momentarily enjoy the taste of fast food. No, because then I can feel the guilt afterward of consuming all those calories. Okay, maybe I can make it a reward for doing something I need to do. Motivation. How is that good motivation? How is that different than what I thought earlier? I’m still adding to my obesity. I’m supposed to be losing weight, remember. Even the doctor said so. So, no. But I need it. Okay then. Let’s stall for a few hours and see if I want it later. Okay, I’ve stalled. I still want it. I want it more, in fact. Let’s go get it.

So I do; I go buy some fast food.

I have this wild craving for fast food that won’t go away. and the more my anxiety grows, the wilder the craving becomes. Eventually, it’s not even about the taste. I’ve eaten fast food for 5 of the past 6 days. Maybe 6 out of 7 if I can’t hold out today. I’ve eaten so much that the idea of eating more makes me feel sick. (Although maybe I’m exaggerating here; I do usually buy the smaller portions. I don’t completely gorge myself. But the idea of eating so much of it is still sickening.) Yet I feel like I need to eat more. I need to eat so much of it that I throw up. Maybe if I eat so much of it that I throw up, I won’t crave it anymore. Silly logic, probably.

Occasionally I want to eat fast food just so I can make myself more disgustingly fat.

Today, the wheels in my head turned. Is my fast food indulgence a form of self-harm? Or is that going too far?

My anxiety continues to grow. I want to do nothing but hide in my house alone. How can I face the world tomorrow? I have grading to do, but I don’t want to do it. Is that because of anxiety, or am I just being lazy? Why can’t I shirk responsibility and freeze time for a week? I feel trapped–by everything.


Filed under Mental Health