Loopy, Lonely and Lost

Posts Tagged ‘sadness

I thought I was doing okay, but people are starting to notice. Read the rest of this entry »

I’ve come home for the weekend, mainly in the desperate, misguided hope that being somewhere else equates to being someone else, or at least feeling something else.

It never works like that, though, does it? It seems ridiculously trite to say that wherever you go, you can’t escape yourself, but still, it’s true. And perhaps it’s something I forget, or at least ignore, fleeing from one place to another in the hope that I can tie my thoughts and feelings to one place and then just leave them behind.

I didn’t tell anyone at uni that I was coming home for the weekend. Of course, I didn’t need to. Who would notice? Who would care? Perhaps there’s a freedom in being able to come and go as I please without raising a ripple of interest, but mostly it feels like loneliness, inadequacy, invisibility.

I’ve been back at uni for nearly 2 months. Everybody I’ve ever known, had they been in my position, would have made friends by now. They would have met people, they’d have made a connection, they’d be enjoying themselves. Not drifting, aimless, through a sea of forgetting faces.

I don’t believe I’ll ever make a friend again. I don’t believe that the people I’ve been calling my friends feel anything for me other than a vague sense of companionship that is already fading, and will soon be completely extinguished. I don’t believe that there is anyone in the world who does or would willingly spend time in my company, or who would miss me if I disappeared from their life entirely.

I know that I am dispensable. I know that I am nothing, no-one. But knowing it doesn’t make it changeable. 

I don’t have a future. For starters, what is a person without other people? But it’s not just that – even if I pass my degree (and what’s the likelihood of that? I’ve been going to things, but of course that’s not enough), there are no jobs. Certainly none for someone like me, with no skills, no experience, no direction. And there’ll be thousands of pounds of debt from student loans and no way to pay it back, because really, would you employ me? And I hate always having to depend on my parents for money, especially now that my mum has left her job due to illness. I won’t ever be able to pay them back for all they’ve given me, and I won’t ever stop needing their help. I’m such a fucking parasite. Every day I live is just one more piece of proof that I am useless, that I am a drain on other people, and I hate it so much.

I don’t want to let people down, but I will. I’ve been doing it all my life.

I am a waste of space, time, money. There is no hope. And there’s no way out, either. No solution, no steps to take to become a different, better person.

I’m so full of guilt, shame, fear, sadness.

And no matter where I go, or how many times I go there, those feelings can’t be escaped.


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.


Posted on: July 17, 2009

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. Read the rest of this entry »


Posted on: July 5, 2009

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. Read the rest of this entry »


Posted on: January 28, 2009

Today was an improvement.

I got out of bed (which actually wasn’t that hard, as I hadn’t slept. Still haven’t. I’m a bit worried about that, I’ve been sleeping less and less this past week or so, but presumably I will just collapse when I need to sleep – just have to hope it’s not when I have to go to a seminar). Read the rest of this entry »

I am coping. Coping is a start. 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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