Hi

I wish I could write here about my ‘normal life’. You know, the day-to-day stuff that isn’t just about my mood and my own private inner life. But they’re inseperable. My mood is the coloured filter that I see the world through. I can’t talk about something I’ve done or something that happened to me without mentioning my mood because chances are that without my mood, either a) the thing wouldn’t have happened, or b) I wouldn’t care about it.

I don’t feel great.

In fact I’d go so far as to say I feel awful.

The past couple of days, I’ve slowed down almost to a stop. Still hardly sleeping but finding it more and more difficult to get out of bed. Feeling constantly on the brink of tears. Getting irritable with everyone. Wanting to be alone but resenting every minute of it. I’m moving slowly, talking quietly, struggling with everything. The lethargy infiltrates every moment, action and thought.

Trying to think straight whilst depressed is like trying to run with your legs tied together. I wish I could clear it, it’s like a fog that comes along and clouds up my brain until I find myself sitting around for ages without even thinking anything, and when I do think it’s just stupid, self-pitying bullshit.

I don’t want to be like this. There is no upside. It’s not interesting or cool. It’s just horrible. I want to be happy and cheerful and optimistic and hopeful. I don’t want every thought I ever have to sooner or later progress to thoughts of suicide. I don’t want it to feel like the first and most sensible option. I don’t want it to feel inevitable.

I want to think properly, and feel properly. I want ordinary happiness and ordinary sadness.

I want some fucking control.

But it won’t happen, of course. I won’t make it happen. And that is yet another reason to hate myself. Because I don’t want it, but I won’t fix it. Because I complain, but don’t change.

I’m spending huge amounts of my time in elaborate fantasy worlds, pretending I’m someone else, people I’ve made up. Just avoiding real life – but I can’t do that all the time.

I’m awful to be around. I’m dull and stupid and awkward. And I feel so isolated here. When I was at uni, even when I was depressed and hiding away, I could hear my flatmates moving and talking to each other, and I could walk to the shop or get a bus into town or go for a walk and see lots of people but never have to speak to them. But here, I don’t really go out, but I do see my family and have to talk to them, and I’m really not brilliant at conversation right now.

I just feel like crap, to be honest.

I should probably stop drinking.

I had a bit of a bizarre night last night.

I was feeling kind of spaced out all day. Reasonably cheerful but very detached from everything, like watching my life through a window. Then I went out with some friends, and was drinking, and it got a lot worse.

I was…worried. Worried about things that didn’t matter or even make sense. Standing by walls, biting my nails, staring in wide-eyed horror at the sky, hating the light pollution, because, as I asked my rather bemused friend, “if it’s never really night, when do the people sleep?”

So, yeah, that was my night. Worrying and asking stupid questions. Great.

Results Day.

It is now the day I get my exam results. They’re not released for another 9 and a half hours or so. I’m crapping myself with fear.

When I was a kid, results days were great. In the build-up, I’d feel a thrill of excitement because exam results always just told everyone that I was quite clever, mixed with a casual attitude because even if they didn’t, my exams didn’t really matter.

But I’m terrified now. Twitchy and jittery and fidgety. I don’t want to fail – I don’t want to let anyone down, I don’t want to have to resit – but I don’t see how I could have escaped it.

I’m about a million times more nervous for the results than I was for the exams themselves.

Edit: I passed! Not particularly brilliantly (four modules: three at 2:2, one at 2:1), but I passed and I don’t have to resit. I’m so relieved. As ever, my exam results seem completely unconnected to what I actually wrote in my exams – the one I thought I did really well in was my worst result, and the one I thought I couldn’t possibly have passed was my second best result. But it doesn’t matter because I passed and I don’t have to think about anything again until October. Phew.

Difficult

I’m finding it difficult to write here. Partly because I don’t have much to say, partly because what I do have to say is dull, repetitive and depressing, partly because I have more to complain about when I’m unhappy, and for much of the past week I’ve been cheerful and enjoying myself. Partly also, I think, my own difficulties in confiding in people. A blog isn’t people, but at the same time, it is, and I find it difficult to be consistent in confiding in people. Sometimes, I want to, I feel like I need to, say everything. But much more often – and especially if I’ve already said things – I just want to hide away in shame and embarrassment. I feel like writing tonight, though, although it is hard to find the words.

Better, sort of.

Today I feel much more alive.

I was even cheerful and energetic during the night (and took advantage of the energy to have a shower in the early hours).

I have, however, been awake for quite some time. I’m not quite sure how long. Somewhere between one day and two, I think. Or maybe a little bit more, now. Added on to weeks of sleeping poorly for me (added on to years of sleeping poorly for the average human), and I am feeling pretty much fuzzy-brained.

But still, I lie down, I close my eyes, and ten seconds later my eyes are open again and I’m thinking I should reach for a book or my computer or something, and then I tell myself to give it longer, that I have to sleep, everyone has to sleep, but to tell the truth I seem to simply not have the mechanism for it anymore. For weeks it’s been a rarity to sleep for more than 4 hours at a time, or to be awake for less than 20.

Like I said: fuzzy-brained.

Also like I said (hurray for repetition!), I was pretty happy last night. But right now I am at the level of tired that doesn’t really allow me to comprehend emotion (and it’s a relief, despite the fuzziness. It’s nice not to feel much one way or the other, just numbness and a vague sense that I really should be asleep).

It’s 1pm now and I’m wondering if I should just try to wait it out until some time in the evening, then go to sleep in an attempt to have a sleeping pattern. Or if I should just collapse on my bed now. Or try to, anyway. It seems like no matter how tired I am, ‘collapsing’ usually means ‘lying down dramatically then realising an hour later that I’m still a-fucking-wake’.

Anyway, that’s about all at the minute.

I’ll write again when I feel more human.

Running on empty

I am pretty much fucked.

The past few days have been spent in bed. Lying around. Doing nothing. Sometimes crying. More often, staring at walls. Taking huge amounts of sleeping pills in increasingly-doomed attempts to knock myself out so I don’t have to feel.

I’m constantly tired but I can’t sleep. I constantly feel like I’m going to throw up.

I haven’t sorted out a dissertation. Too late now, probably. Had a few vague ideas but couldn’t discuss them because I can’t speak or move or think. It doesn’t matter. I can’t imagine being alive to come back to uni in October.

I’m alone at the minute. For the next few days. Everyone is on holiday or at home, they’re coming back some time next week I think.

Ideally I would do one of two things:

1. Get out of bed in the morning, shower, eat, tidy my room and do something about arranging a dissertation topic.
2. Kill myself.

But the truth is that I’ll probably spend another day lying around, too exhausted to do anything.

I am a despicable human being. I do nothing. I contribute nothing. I am nothing.

When am I going to finally just snap and either sort out my life or end it?

Separate

I have isolated completely. I might as well not exist.

Blaaaah

Update: Nothing.

Nothing has changed. I still feel like complete and utter shit.

I’ve been thinking about something for my dissertation proposal but I’m stuck between two facts:

1. If I’m going to be spending months researching and writing about something, I want it to be something I’m at least vaguely interested in.
2. Right now, I’m not even vaguely interested in anything.

So of course I don’t have any ideas. And I’ve got until the end of the week to arrange for someone to be my tutor for it. Joy.

I haven’t really been up to anything. Just lying around in pyjamas, drinking endless cups of tea. I’m hardly sleeping or eating at all.

I am exhausted, unhappy, and every time anyone speaks in the corridor, I jump out of my skin in fear, for reasons I have yet to reveal even to myself.

If this post seems brief and unfeeling, it’s because I’m finding language difficult. I just can’t find the words for anything.

Worse

It’s just getting worse. Fuck, I don’t know what to do.