Tag Archives: anxiety


I’m in a bad place in terms of my mental illnesses. Things have been getting so much worse again and it’s hard to get out of bed, to do the things I need to do. I’m still managing work-related things, but it doesn’t feel like it’s worth much. Arguing with my therapist about that is futile. “Of course, you cannot see it. But I’d say it’s pretty amazing given your circumstances”, is what he keeps telling me. But it doesn’t matter, does it? My best friend told me that I shouldn’t give up, I’m doing so much, putting in a lot of effort in my job & university – “Are you doing all of that just to give up?” I don’t know. No. It’s more of a safety blanket. This way it may seem like everything is okay – “don’t worry, never worry about me, I’m fine, take care of yourself” – but you know, it’s difficult to explain, in a way. And tbh it doesn’t matter, does it? Nothing matters. Day after day I seem to be falling more and more; I have no sense of identify, I can no longer distinguish between my demons and me. I am nothing. I am no one.

Above all, I am tired. It’s been so long. Too long.


Just another morning.

Anxiety is running through my veins and this skin of mine feels as though it is on fire. Each touch is too much for me, each caress nothing but another burn or cut. I wish there was something that would help, yet I fear that I am condemned to this misery. Forever and ever, stuck in a body I loathe, stuck with this mind, these illnesses, this pain.

I’m hopeless.


Managed to make a not-work-related call today in order to make an appointment with my massage therapist on Sunday, and while that is a HUGE thing for me, I cannot even remotely feel proud of it.
Ever since that call everything has gone wrong and I’ve been in nothing but unbearable pain. Moving hurts. Sitting hurts. Lying down hurts. I broke stuff, my train was late and I’m scared to death that something else will happen. The OCD-related voices inside of my head are taunting me already, saying that all of this happened because I dared to make that call.

My god. I just want to curl up and cry my heart out.


I’m falling, my misery consuming my heart and mind each day, each night. Even though I try so hard to manage my life, I still cannot help but feel desperate, exhausted, suicidal. It doesn’t seem like I’m moving ahead or changing things, it just feels like I’m spinning round and round, merely getting lost more and more in the dark world of my demons. When I was younger, I used to hope – hope for better days, better moods, times; a better me. But by now I’m nothing but a broken memory of who I used to be, and when I look into the mirror, I just cannot help but wonder who the heck I even am? Nothing makes sense to me anymore, and I’m constantly losing more of my sanity. Why should I keep on fighting? Maybe falling is what I’m supposed to do.


I want to write down how I’m feeling, describe the way my heart seems to be picked apart more and more with each day; the way any amount of hope I used to have has left me.

And yet, I can’t.

I try to reach out for the right words, I swear that I can even taste them on my lips, but when it comes to writing them down, saying them out loud, it seems like neither my lips nor my hands are willing to function.

This is killing me.

I absolutely cannot stand it when I cannot write. The accumulative amount of chaos and insanity inside of me is making me feel like I’m suffocating. I need to get these things out. I need to not be engulfed by this, but when the only ‘good’/’okay’ options are out of reach, self-destruction seems to be the only one left.


Just another Sunday evening

Don’t tell me to stay alive for others. I’ve been doing that for years and it hasn’t been working out. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I want to die. I’m sad and upset and miserable and lonely and desperate, hopeless, helpless, scared, trapped.

I’ve been fighting, I’ve been running. I’ve been standing tall, defending myself and others, attacking when necessary. I’ve been trying.

Trying each and every fucking day and night for the past ten years. And it hasn’t been working out. Don’t tell me that my survival rate has been 100%, when the amount of darkness within me is unbearable, when my demons are there at all times – choking me, punching me, pushing me from one corner of the room to the other. I keep spinning around in all of my vicious cycles and I just can’t do this anymore.

I just can’t.

I’m done apologising for feeling the way I do.


If I had to describe how I‘m feeling, I‘d have a difficult time finding the right words. I suppose it‘s like everything is too much. The people around me, the sounds surrounding me, the thoughts inside of my head, the screaming, the whispering, the stares, the walls of my room.

I feel trapped.

I feel like everything is closing in on me, and I‘m having a difficult time trying to breathe, to not feel like these lungs are filled with nothing but sadness that‘s slowly but surely trying to suffocate me. Maybe I need to go away for awhile, but to be honest, changing the location probably wouldn‘t do me any good either. What use would it be to run away if my demons still clung to me like a second skin? What use does fighting have if hopelessness is the only thing that‘s running through my veins?

Exhaustion is seeping through my bones, and I simply cannot help but wish to detach myself from reality and to stay numb. Maybe if I can convince myself that I’m not here, I’ll slowly disappear.

(I‘m done.)

Follow @ othertypist on Twitter

End of July. End of me. (Trigger warning.)

(Part 01)

I feel miserable. My head is filled with too many demons and above all, one of them seems to be screaming at me constantly these days. ‚Eat less.‘ ‚You are disgusting.‘ ‚Even when you were less, you were not enough.‘ ‚You are repulsive.‘

I‘m trying to ignore these thoughts, but since we are focusing on my OCD in therapy and not my eating disorder and other mental illnesses, these other things seem to be just getting worse.

As always, I‘m stuck in a vicious cycle that I‘ll never get out of.

It‘s like someone‘s using a tiny water bucket to extinguish the fire that‘s in one corner of the room, while actually the whole fucking flat is on fire. Everything else continues to burn and spread, and eventually it will get that corner again, too.

I feel hopeless.

(Part 02)

I can’t help the thoughts.

I can’t help the darkness that’s invading my mind each and every day and night. I wish I could feel differently. I wish I could remember what it’s like to be filled with hope. But years of mental illnesses have taken that feeling away from me. I go to sleep and end up with nightmares, I wake up and hardly manage to get out of bed. I try to smile, to paint a ‘pretty’ face, but deep down – let’s be honest – I see myself falling. I see the time I have left on this earth running out. I wish I could feel differently.

I wish I wish I wish.


Lately my mood seems to be getting worse again and I’m having a tough time trying to not let it affect every part of my every day life. Sure, I’m trying to keep up with stuff for university, but tbh I should be doing way, way more, and yet I can’t. Waking up is exhausting for me and getting out of bed, even on ““good””/okay days, takes most of my strength. I’m tired of fighting my mind every day and I’m tired of everything taking so much energy.

When that stranger touched my hand on purpose last week ago, I had a huge panic attack and ended up crying while sitting on a chair in a store.

I can’t imagine what therapy will be like when I’m back to trying ERP for my OCD. It will be hell. How I’m supposed to survive that and still keep up with university and whatever social life I have left is a mystery to me.

Day after day I seem to be getting more suicidal and while that is nothing new to me, it still isn’t particularly fun. I’m seeing my therapist tomorrow and then I have to get through Eid with my family. (Which sounds kind of mean, I suppose, but being around family and being expected to be happy and enjoying food etc. is not something I’m able to do after an hour of therapy. Never mind that my demons aren’t too keen on letting me enjoy anything.)

(Trigger warning) May, some thoughts.

Usually I’m able to, at the very least, recognise most of my irrational thoughts, except these past weeks I’ve been having even more of those and I’m starting to have a very difficult time recognising them as “not genuine” because from first to last they simply ring true to my (unstable, disordered, sick, whatever you want to call it) mind.

One of them is that I cannot help but consider me dying as the most reasonable course of action. After all, I’m a burden (I know I am, I’m not blind) and whenever I try to look at my life from the outside, it just seems like that’s the only way life will work out for everyone involved; never mind that it doesn’t seem to ever get really better for me anyway.
(On that note, though, don’t tell me that it will because damn, almost 10 years of mental illnesses don’t just fade out and get better, because damn, almost 10 fucking years of mental illnesses means that they found a way to crawl into every ruddy crack of my life and that they’ve been trying their effing hardest to ruin it, so please, spare me those words. I know they are spoken out of kindness and the wish to comfort, but today I simply can’t stand listening to them because they sound like nothing but lies.)

Another thought that found its way into my head is that before I went into inpatient treatment, before my weight was restored at the end of ‘13 etc. I’ve been managing my life better, and in combination with other thoughts – that’s one hell of a feeding ground for my eating disorder to leech off. Because it encourages the voices in my head to tell me that going back to it “full-time” will improve things again which is such a fucked up thing to hear because in that time I’ve been dying, I’ve been severely underweight and feeling awful. I’ve been suffering so much, but STILL there are those voices in my head that tell me that back then REGARDLESS OF EVERYTHING I’ve managed to get shit done, to go to university, to work on my assignments and to be a proper students and my God, I miss being able to do those things.

I just loathe myself so much for not managing those things anymore, you know?

And perhaps the saddest thing about all of this is that I loathe myself so much, I’m willing to tear myself to shreds, to kill myself slowly if only it means that I’ll manage things on my own again, that I’ll be less of a burden for others, to make life easier for everyone else.