Loopy, Lonely and Lost

Posts Tagged ‘hopelessness

The past doesn’t seem real anymore. I think about events in my life and they strike me as things that happened to someone else.

I feel like I never went to uni. I talk about it, sometimes, about funny or interesting things that happened while I was there, about the people I knew, and it feels like a dream or a story someone once told me.

And really, I might as well have not gone, hadn’t I? I mean, I know that if I hadn’t, I would have regretted it. I would always be thinking, I could have done that – but I’d be wrong. I know that now. Four years of my life and I can hardly remember most of it, and I’m no longer in touch with the people I knew (what is it people say? The friends you make at university will last a lifetime), and I don’t even have a degree to show for it, letters I can put after my name as proof that I did something, proof that I was there. All I have is a gap in my employment history that to explain would mean to admit failure.

I feel like I’ve betrayed the person I used to be. I think of myself, all those years ago. All the aspirations I had. I was going to write books, or if that didn’t work out as quickly and as successfully as I hoped, I’d become a teacher. I was going to fall in love and be a mother. I was going to have a house of my own, and lots of friends. I was going to achieve something, even if I wasn’t quite sure what.

It’s stupid, isn’t it? Nothing in my life ever gave me any indication that I’d be able to do the things I dreamt of, and since dreaming them life has emphatically proven that I’m incapable.

In a way, I know that I’m being premature. Giving up too early. I’m 22 years old, and there’s still time for any or all of those things. But I can no longer see any of them happening, and I’m not even on the right path anymore. I know that, if this were a story, and I were the hero, I’d be more determined. I wouldn’t give up just because there were obstacles in my way. But it’s a long time since I’ve felt I’m the protagonist in this winding, plotless tale, and I’ve never felt like a hero.

I’ve never known how to try again. I’ve always been someone who tried once and then, on failing, quickly moved on, pretending the thing I’d tried for was worthless. If I fail once, I take it as a sign that I am neither capable nor deserving of success. And by that method I close every door, I cut off every path that’s available to me, and I stand in this same place, unable to move on.

I sit and wait, watching life trickle away, too quickly to change it but too slowly for comfort. I see my life as another thing I’ve tried to do, some task I’ve set myself to. And I failed, so all there is left to do is pretend it doesn’t matter and refuse to try again.

I’m not even sure any of that makes sense.

I don’t even really know how I feel, or what’s happening in my life.

I know that life at home is easy in all the ways that really matter – food on the table and a roof over my head, and I don’t have to worry about money. And I know that life at work is probably better than I had any right to hope for – not too taxing, relatively interesting, and surrounded by people I suppose I get on with.

But home is a struggle, always (and even back when I hoped to become a mother, I wonder if I’d ever be so selfish as to go through with it, knowing that there’s a chance I’d end up like my own, who sees her children as adversaries and inconveniences – lingering unpleasantnesses that she’d hoped to be free of long ago). And at work, there is too much time for chat, and it makes me uncomfortable. Already, I can see their puzzled glances. I’m never who I was the previous week. Everything I say and am seems to contradict everything they already know about me, and they have questions that I don’t know how to answer.

I sit in the dark and cry. I wake too early and fall asleep too late. The mask is in place permanently, and I have no time to be myself, to fall apart, without the fear of discovery. I’d call it a good thing, the enforced routine serving as a crude sketch of a life that maybe one day I will learn to live, but I feel myself becoming exhausted by pretense, and irritable with the people in whose presence I have to pretend.

I feel the weight that pushes down on my shoulders, and I see the walls that pen me in. I force a smile and carry on, and everything twists, and more parts of myself become irretrievable, and every day is another day I’ve lost forever, and another day I get to tick off in the excrutiatingly slow countdown to the end of my life.

It’s all I can do now, sit and wait, having neither the courage nor the energy to either end or change my life.

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Life isn’t going well.

Anxiety is becoming an enormous problem. It’s a constant background hum, keeping me in a state of edginess all day and all night, and bursting into several panic attacks a day. I think they’re panic attacks. Never been told they are, but I don’t know what else they could be. My heart races and my vision blurs and I’m shaking and I’m pacing my room and I feel like I’m going to throw up and I can’t breathe and I can’t think anything other than shitshitshitshitshit.

And then it stops and I burst into tears and I lie down on my bed and everything is hideous.

And I’m thinking, fuck. I have to die. Because this whole ‘living’ thing really isn’t working out. Read the rest of this entry »

Alive.

Posted on: November 29, 2009

I’m still here.

I don’t know what to do. Read the rest of this entry »

Separate

Posted on: June 20, 2009

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

It’s too much. I can’t do it. I don’t want to.

The anxiety is excruciating. Hiding behind my door. Looking through the peephole. Switching the light off so people will think I’m out. If I do have to go out, waiting for the corridor light to go off, then running to the front door of the flat. If the lift isn’t on my floor, I take the stairs. I can’t hang around waiting. I can’t be seen.

I can’t do this. I’m too frightened. Read the rest of this entry »

Struggling.

Posted on: May 3, 2009

I suppose you might have guessed that I’m finding things difficult these days.

I’m going to try to explain, if only for my own sake. It will probably just end up being more nonsensical rambling, but if I keep it vague in my head then it’s insurmountable. Maybe it’s still insurmountable, but ‘know thy enemy’, and all that. Read the rest of this entry »

I feel so grumpy. Just generally irritable and pissed off.

I stayed away from people all day because I knew I’d probably end up being a bitch to them. Read the rest of this entry »


Hello

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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