Loopy, Lonely and Lost

Posts Tagged ‘regret

Posted on: June 16, 2010

I’m struggling a little bit at the moment.

I’ve been working for the past couple of days, which is a good distraction, but my sleep is completely fucked anyway, and it’s hard to get up at 6am after two hours’ sleep, then work 9 hours (trying to motivate teenagers, at that), then go home and be exhausted but still not sleeping anywhere near enough, and then get up the next day and do it again. But yeah, it’s been a distraction, and I sort of made friends with the person I was working with…it feels such an embarrassingly long time since I actually made a friend, so it actually feels like a big thing, when all that happened was I met someone with a few similar interests and we chatted a lot (I wish the small things didn’t seem so big. I wish it could be like the old days, when it all came so much more easily).

I’m finding it hard to calm my anxiety. It’s not full-on panic yet, just a sort of dread that I can feel rising in my chest. I’m pretty sure I’ve failed my degree (I’ve done the maths. Any kind of half-decent grade is unlikely, verging on impossible). And I don’t know how I’m going to explain. To my family, who have always been so unjustifiably proud of me. Or to my friends, whose opinion of me is so out-of-date that they still think of me as “clever”, because last time we studied together was at college, back when I could do anything.

I mean, what do I say? How can I let everyone down like this? I’m going to spend the rest of my life saying, “yeah, sorry, it turns out I’m stupid”. It’s always going to be there. I’ll never be allowed to forget it. Every single job application. The whole of my life, making excuses and avoiding eye contact and shrugging. It’s hard enough to get a job these days even as a graduate with a first class degree. How the fuck will I manage, having gone to university and made nothing of it? Four years, down the drain. Thousands of pounds of debt. Nothing to show for it. It’s a fucking waste and I wish I hadn’t bothered.

And I think, briefly…maybe I don’t want to lie anymore. Maybe I just want to hold my hands up, say “I can’t cope”, burst into tears and wait for someone to come along and make it better. It’s naive, and weak, even to think it. To consider, even for a moment, that this is something that would be easier if people knew. It would just be a different kind of difficult, and not a kind that, really, I’d ever be able to cope with. I know I’m not really coping now, but at least I have privacy. At least no-one feels sorry for me. It’s a small comfort, but it’s pretty much all I’ve got, and I’m not going to give it up because of some instinctive desire to just hand over the reins and let someone else steer my life while I have a bit of a nap.

I’ve found something that is bigger than me. You can call it depression, or unhappiness, or pessimism, or just plain old life, but it’s too big and too destructive, and I’ve been holding it inside myself and it’s been eating away, consuming all of me to make more room for it, so it can grow and take over completely. Soon it will be all I am.

I have another counselling appointment on Friday. It’ll probably be the last one. I left it too late for it to make a difference. I suppose it wouldn’t have, anyway. Then again, I don’t really think months or even years of counselling would be able to change my thoughts. They’re too…big. They’re too much of me.

I suppose I might be a little suicidal. Kill yourself, kill yourself, might as well kill yourself. Better get it over with before life catches up with you. Hurry up and do it before things get worse. Kill yourself, kill yourself. Shut up and kill yourself. Over and over again until it’s all I can think, and no amount of superficial think of something else-ing will get rid of it.

I’m scared, a lot. But to be perfectly honest, I’m more scared of living than I am of dying.

I am struggling, really quite a lot.

Read the rest of this entry »

It’s just gone half past five in the morning, it’s already not properly dark, and I haven’t been to sleep.

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

Just over a week ago, back when things were good, I had a brief phase of rather compulsively applying for jobs. Because, y’know, it’d be fun, and it’d be something to do.

Only, of course, as it always does, my past enthusiasm and motivation have come back to bite me on the arse. Because now (and if you’ve read any of the self-indulgent twaddle I’ve been writing here for the past few days, you’ll know what kind of a state I’m in now), I’ve been getting emails from the people responsible for the jobs I’ve applied for. And it turns out that, in my ridiculous frenzy of last week, my applications, covering letters, etc. weren’t perhaps as garbled as I’ve been imagining in the time since my mood turned for the worse. Because I’ve been getting emails. About being on shortlists (shudder). And (really massive shudder), they want me to do things, to prove I’m the best person for the job.

So, on Wednesday, I’ve got an as-yet-unspecified writing task to do, in order to progress to an interview. Which isn’t so bad, I suppose – unless they ask me to write about my thoughts or feelings, because I think you know what kind of drivel that brings out in me. And on Thursday, I’m taking a short (pfft! Two and a half hours!) trip into one of the more menacing circles of hell. A trip involving the triple horror of “a group exercise, written questions and a short individual interview”. A trip for which I am asked to dress “smart/casual”, which I can only presume means something other than the pyjamas and increasingly-lank hair of the past few days.

And I’m more than a little tempted to send them brief but polite emails saying that I’ve changed my mind and don’t want to be considered for the jobs anymore. But I’m more than a little terrified that they might ask for reasons. And also, perhaps if I do it but get turned down, then any future self will be a little bit more reluctant to go around throwing me into shitty situations. And there is the fact that, should the currently-seemingly unlikely happen, and I decide to actually stay alive, then I probably do need to actually try to have some form of employment, because I could really use the money (I get so frightened and ashamed of asking for my parents’ help), and should I actually become a completely different person and decide to stay alive for any meaningful amount of time, then it’d be useful to have some sort of evidence that I am capable of holding down any sort of employment.

Only, I’m not, am I? And my chances of getting a job when I’m half-convinced I’ve forgotten how to speak, when I can hardly raise the energy to get out of bed, and when I can think of few more frightening things than interacting with strangers, are slim.

Gaaaah. Nightmare.

I’ve had a nice holiday, a good holiday. Not really an ideal holiday – depending on my state of mind, my ideal holiday consists of either a) me, some sunshine and a big pile of books, or b) me, my friends, a lot of friendly strangers and a lot of alcohol. Listening to my mother constantly worrying about things that haven’t happened yet, and even if they didn’t happen, wouldn’t be worth worrying about, isn’t likely to be something I want in a holiday.

But yes, it was nice. Read the rest of this entry »


Posted on: January 27, 2009

The silence and emptiness and blankness of the past few days have broken.

I want them back. I want a barrier between me and this. I fucking hate it.

I’m just sitting and hiding and crying. I feel like such an idiot. Read the rest of this entry »

I’ve been dwelling on this story today.

Warning: you’ve probably guessed, but I wouldn’t like to catch anyone unawares: this post is quite triggery and a bit graphic, so don’t read it if that kind of thing affects you badly. Read the rest of this entry »


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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August 2020