Tag Archives: anxiety

Y (oct.)

— to others, nothing
but an empty vase
to be filled
with sorrows and
worries, when albeit
i am already brimming



Once again, instead of sleeping, I find myself wide awake; stuck in front of a blank page that is begging me to fill it with words, to paint a picture of the mess within. The voices, the screams – they all need to be heard, need to be written down, and yet I’m hesitating, still. Writing used to be what allowed me to go on, however as of late, words have been slipping through my mind like sand through fingers. The connection I’ve used to adore and fight for has left my heart and soul. Each word feels misplaced, wrong. I wish I could find an excuse, someone or something to accuse, but all there is left is my own reflection in the mirror.


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.)

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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.