Loopy, Lonely and Lost

Posts Tagged ‘complaining

I confirmed that I would go to the counselling appointment. It’s tommorow afternoon.

I get the awful feeling that this is a very bad idea. But I’ve said I’ll go now, and if I don’t I’ll just feel guilty because somebody else could have that appointment.

There are so many things I should talk about, but I feel comfortable talking about so very few of them.

I’m scared of being told the truth – that this is all my own fault, that I’ve messed up everything and should just shut up and sort it out. But if I am told anything else then it would feel like ridiculous empty lies.

I have to go because I’ve said I will. But I’m scared that it will make things worse. I don’t respond well to talking about things – perhaps even worse than I respond to keeping them locked away. But it’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it? Talk and discuss and face it head-on even when you want to hide and pretend nothing is happening.

I’m so tired. I just want to curl up and go to sleep and never wake up. My parents keep telling me to apply for jobs but how can I? When I don’t believe I can do anything. When I’m not convinced I’ll be alive in a few months or whenever. When I can’t do interviews because I can’t speak properly. When every fucking job has a medical form and technically I’m sure I could probably get away with no, I haven’t ever had a serious mental illness, but it still feels a bit like lying if I don’t add but I’m stupid and lazy and unreliable and I can’t guarantee I’m not going to run away or kill myself or just sit in a corner and weep all day.

Oh, God, what do you do, when you’re nothing? When there isn’t any place for you anywhere anymore? When you spend so much of your life wishing to turn back time that even more time passes and you haven’t changed, you haven’t done anything and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend that you haven’t closed every possible door? When nothing’s turned out like you thought it would, and you don’t have a contingency plan? What do you do when you are nothing, and deserve nothing? 

What do you do when none of your options is really an option at all, and when the smallest sacrifice it’s possible to make is your entire future?

I’ve let everyone down, and I continue to do so every fucking day. And I don’t know how to stop it, let alone how to reverse it.


Posted on: November 5, 2009

I’m finding words difficult. And everything else, really.

On the bright side, I’m calmer. I’m no longer cluttered with too many thoughts and too much movement.

But I feel like I’m made out of lead.

Stupid, isn’t it? I spend all my time complaining about one thing or another, when I should just accept that there is no middle ground.

I’m so slow. I couldn’t think properly before because all the thoughts were jostling for position…now I can’t think properly because there just aren’t enough thoughts. I think, then I pause, stuck, no words at all in my head, and I just have to wait for something else to come along.

I have to do a presentation tomorrow. I have to do so many things.

I can’t think, I can’t move.

I’m trying to be okay. I’ve been going to things. I went to a meeting with my presentation group earlier, and I managed. I felt ridiculously fake, my face stretched into a grimace, my voice too quiet, then too loud – everything was just off, but of course, people don’t notice. That’s not how it works.

I am trying. And I have to be okay. I have to be able to do things.

But I feel so slow and heavy and tired. My insomnia is still stupidly bad. It’s just me and my thoughts at night, and at the moment I don’t even have the energy to try to distract myself – and if I did I don’t think it’d work. You have to be interested in things in order to be distracted.

The other day I was talking to a girl who was really passionate about her future. She was talking about how she was nervous that it wouldn’t work out and excited that it would, and about how this is the start of her life, really – about how she could do anything.

And I didn’t understand. I would have done…years ago, I’d have understood. I’d have got it, I’d have felt the same.

I miss it.

I miss feeling like there was some future for me. I miss feeling like no problem was insurmountable. I miss that unshakeable feeling of invincibility.

I know there’s no way back. I’m not stupid.

I just don’t know how to go about moving forward, carrying on, with what I’ve got left. What I am now.

I’m just tired, I suppose, and talking crap.


Posted on: August 15, 2009

Everything I write is bullshit. Just the same old self-absorbed whining.

My mind has more or less shut off. I’m very quiet, very numb. Not even crying anymore.

Every time I’m home for any length of time, this is how it is. Not that I ever feel okay away from home, but at least when I’m at uni there are occasional moments when I’m not overcome with guilt and worry and panic.

I shouldn’t complain so much. It’s all just perspective and opinion, isn’t it? I feel like hell but I shouldn’t blame my mum or my family or my home. It’s not as simple as that. Just because I feel bad when I’m here, it doesn’t mean I feel bad because I’m here.

I probably should kill myself soon. I can’t stay here and I can’t go back to uni – being here hurts too much, being there is too stressful. And I can’t go anywhere else because I don’t have any money.

It hurts, failing all the time. It eats away at you.

I probably won’t do anything. I’m too much of a coward, and there’s so much that can go wrong. I don’t want to survive, I don’t want to be helped and pitied. I just want to die, but there’s no guarantee, no promise. If there was a definite way, I’d do it now, I’d have done it months or years ago.

And here I go, whining again. Complain, complain, complain, stupid selfish cow.

I know what I am. It weighs so heavily upon me. Knowing that it’s my fault, I am why I feel this way. Knowing that I am a failure. Knowing that I am a burden.

Oh, if I could find a way…

I am a waste of fucking space.

Sorry, I’ll shut up. I need to stop my selfish complaining.


Posted on: July 18, 2009

I am lonely, and troubled. I find it so difficult to make things better for myself when I feel like this; to contact people, to talk, to go out. Being alone is difficult, but somehow I feel that being with others would be more so.

I have jury duty next week, and am dreading it. I know that I have no choice, I know that I have to go, and I’m sure that when I get there it won’t be so bad as I feel now – I might not even have to be on a jury. I just feel worried about it now.

I’ve been reading ‘Letters to a Young Poet’, trying to take comfort in it, and in solitude. Words are a comfort, but they are not a solution. I’ve been reading, not just Rilke but huge amounts of other things, trying to find something in which to immerse myself, but neither the stories nor my concentration last quite long enough, and sooner or later I am plunged back into the real world. I’ve been reading a lot of poetry, too, because I don’t have to concentrate for so long, and it helps: words and thoughts and rhythm. It’s easier to live in others’ thoughts than my own.

I am so very lonely here. I see my friends occasionally – they’re working, or doing family stuff, a lot of the time, or seeing other friends, and only every now and again do we do anything together. When I do see them, I am happy in a way – happy in our comfortable, piss-taking informality. But it verges on the superficial and I feel, as ever, that I am merely acting. It’s not their fault, though, as I feel that way regardless of who I am with.

I am trying to be calm, trying to see my loneliness as a good thing – trying to change it from loneliness to aloneness. Trying to use it to grow, to be content. But in my heart, I know that that’s not really me – I am tense, restless.

I feel fragile. I am the weak, the breakable, but I am also my own guard. There is no-one else I’d trust to deflect awkward questions, to hide weakness and fragility and hopelessness. I used to think it made me a complete person – both strong and weak, both protector and protected – but lately I wonder if it’s just another elaborate lie. If my self-sufficiency is just another thinly-veiled weakness, just another warning light, telling the whole world that I can’t trust, I can’t relax, I can’t hope.

The silence of my inner world somehow says more than panicking, frantic thoughts could. There’s a gaping chasm somewhere within me, where the tiniest thought echoes, echoes, echoes until it is all I hear.

I feel light-headed – with tiredness, with sadness, with worry and confusion. Sometimes I feel like I am not a person but a vessel for all the bad qualities a person could have. I feel like, amongst the sadness, the selfishness and the loneliness, there is no redeeming humanity. Like I am not a person but a list of unpleasant traits.

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.


Posted on: June 20, 2009

I have isolated completely. I might as well not exist. Read the rest of this entry »


Posted on: May 14, 2009


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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