Loopy, Lonely and Lost


Posted on: July 4, 2016

I am struggling under the weight of the futility of my life.

Yeah, pretentiousness alert.

I’m aware that this is boring. Trust me, I’m living it.

I just keep thinking, when is my life going to start?

I’m paralysed by fear and indecision. I keep thinking of moving out of my parents’ house, but then I get so anxious that I’ll lose my job. I think my job is fairly safe, but who knows that for certain, really? I imagine myself with a mortgage, then being made redundant, being unable to get another job and then losing my home. It makes me feel sick, so I stay where I am.

My life just feels so pointless. Maybe it’s connected to my job -it’s alright, it could be a career one day, but I spend so much time presenting facts that no-one cares about, and I’m not very good at it, really. Every time I think about having to get another job, I try to imagine what my skills are and am faced with endless empty pages. But it’s not so simple as just doing something else. What the hell am I supposed to do? I have no vocation, no path calling out to me. I’d give anything for something to work towards, even if it meant more education and training and interviews. But I don’t see the point in working towards any of the things I could bear or possibly be able to do, because I wouldn’t be any more enthusiastic about them than I am about my current job.

I’d like to have some part of my life where I am successful. Where I matter. Where there are people (or even just a person) who feel glad I exist, whose lives are better for what I do or who I am. And if it’s not my job then it’d have to be my private life. But that’s no good, either – I will never have a significant romantic relationship and I will never have children. There is no-one to be glad I’m here. Maybe I matter to my parents and brother, but only as a witness, or a weapon they can use against each other, or a companion in troubled times.

As for friends, I don’t really have any. I’m alright with people. It feels arrogant to say it, but lots of people like me. I have many, many acquaintances. We say hello to each other if we pass in a corridor or on the street. If we happen to be in the same place for any real period of time, there is perfectly pleasant chatting, and often some laughter. Sometimes they tell me about their lives and their feelings. But friends? No. The people I call my friends in order to be polite are just the people I happen to have been in the vicinity of most often lately. There is no binding or lasting connection. We don’t miss each other when we’re apart.

I don’t know when I’m going to feel like my life means something. Probably never.

I feel like I am observing myself, and from my observations I can tell you that there’s a reasonable chance I am vaguely depressed. I’m always sleeping but I’m never rested. The people I know have started complaining that they don’t know what I’m saying – my voice has become so quiet, my body language restricted. I’m hesitant to communicate at all, hovering for minute after minute over the send button for perfectly straightforward emails, anxious about sending them but not sure why.

I don’t cry. It’s been a long time since I cried. My emotions are even more muted than my voice. They are folded up as small as they’ll go and locked inside a box somewhere very deep inside me. They try to get out but I feel them only as a dull, distant ache. More the ideas of feelings than actual feelings themselves.

I’m treading water with no hope of rescue, in the knowledge that sooner or later what little energy I have left will be fully gone and I will be pulled under the surface to drown.



1 Response to "Life"

Yep. I feel all of the above, as well. It’s awful. Might be worth taking a leap & moving into an apartment. I want to do the same, but my therapist doesn’t think it’s a good idea right now because I’ve only been stable for a little while (bipolar II). I’m in my twenties too. I guess we have some time.

Take care. ❤

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My name is Laura. I was once told that I have cyclothymia. This blog is mostly where I write about living as a person with extremes and instability of mood, and the history of a life that led to the development of those symptoms.

I complain a lot, I'm very repetitive, unreliable, and I tend to contradict myself.

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