June 26, 2011
No one loves me. I should be dead.
I can never be like them. I am such a loser.
I can’t go outside. Everyone will laugh at me.
I’m fat and disgusting. I should be dead.
I look like a monster.
You should be dead.
Nobody wants you around. You should be dead.
This is the only thing you can do to make things right.
There is nothing else you can do.
Your face is a monster.
Nobody loves me. Everyone wishes I was dead.
I’m not a real person.
June 7, 2011
My hips are too low
That’s all that this is
Don’t follow that thought
something about following the thought down that path where we’ve both gone and hating ourselves in the end
Toast to Negative Thoughts
Come out of the cold
I’ll feed you and nurse you
Make you strong
Come stand round this fire
Company for you
Make you stronger
And give you ideas
June 6, 2011
I’ve been thinking about this appointment for ages. I feel embarrassed to admit it but I had possible conversations running in my head. I remember thinking “maybe I daydream about talking to someone so much because I really am actually lonely” and maybe that’s true. I’m also terrified of looking stupid or having people laugh at me or thinking badly of me.
Pretty sure I managed to look incredibly stupid and I’m damn sure the psychiatrist was getting frustrated and pissed off with me. I am afraid that she thinks I am attention-seeking, that I am making it all up, that I am faking it all, that I am exagerrating … oh god oh god, all things which are kind of true. I feel so ashamed. Why didn’t I just suck it up and answer her questions properly. Be open and honest and a fucking adult. Volunteer stuff! Yeah, it’s been years since I volunteered information to a psychiatrist. I never talk about suicide with them and I think about that so much. So much of my time these days is spent thinking about it. Usually I am deciding that “this time, I’ll really do it” “this really is the right thing to do” “this weekend would be fine, a good a time as it will get” “it won’t be so bad” etc etc etc.
One of the things the psychiatrist tried to do was to reassure me that I didn’t need to be embarrassed about having suicidal thoughts. Ha, I don’t think I’ve ever been embarrassed by it. I feel incredibly and deeply ashamed that it’s yet another thing that I’ve failed at. That I procrastinate about and fuck aobut with and I am terrified that I look like I am attention-seeking. There is a part of me that wants to tell them, to say all of it and get it out of my head but I don’t actually think I could physically make myself say it. First of all because wow, the anxiety of the above and secondly, I’d be crying too hard. So it’s kind of a moot point. I can’t say it. But it still pisses me off when I heard the psychiatrist describe my suicidal thoughts as just happening as a one-off a fortnight ago. Makes me feel kind of hopeless and helpless all rolled into one, what can I do? Speak up (somehow, ha) and it’ll be horrible or shut up and it’s horrible.
She wants me to talk a drug
She said that she’s heard me say “several times” (or was it “many times”) about my high episodes but that she’s never seen it. I don’t have manic depression, I knew it. But of course I am super-protective of my diagnosis coz I want to stay sick. Bet loads of them believe that even so it so every step of the logic is so full of fail.
What do I do all day? “Have a shower <Bank Alt> you’ll feel better if you have a shower <Bank Alt> you really should have a shower <Bank Alt>it’s disgusting not to have a shower <Bank Alt>you should have a shower <Bank Alt>just get it over with <Bank Alt>you should have a shower <Bank Alt>stop being pathetic <Bank Alt>you should have a shower <Bank Alt>.” I repeat stuff, I try to talk myself into stuff. I fail to do things. I fail to go outside. I do that so much.