Tag Archives: university


It‘s Thursday afternoon already and I feel beyond miserable. My back, head, and joints hurt incredibly much, making it difficult to concentrate on anything at all. The deadline for a sort of exam alternative is on Monday and I haven‘t managed anything yet despite trying. As soon as I sit down to work on it, I get confused and come up with seemingly 10 different ways to solve the tasks, none of which seem to be the actual right one.

I‘m tired.
I don‘t want to care about uni anymore.

I feel like I‘m way past my due date. I should have managed my BA in three years, should have been done in 2014, but by now it‘s 2016 and I feel worse and still hate myself. I‘m stuck with flashbacks of times long gone and more often than not, I catch myself thinking about my younger self/selves.
I hate the fact that it‘s been more than 10 years of this, I hate that even after all these years I still can’t say that fighting is worth it.



I’ll be done with my internship soon, and will start to work at the same place in January, and yet – I cannot help but feel utterly anxious. Despite all the plans I made, I haven’t been able to do anything for university. Time seems to pass me by and people around me keep pressuring me “When will you finish, why aren’t you doing anything. Why why why”. The way they talk it’s obvious that after all these years, they still do not understand (nor do they try to) any of my illnesses. I’m exhausted. I swear it would be better for everyone involved if I just ended this useless life of mine.

(3 hours left)

I am forced to use books from the library for my assignments and although I managed it now, I feel utterly nauseous. My hands feel like they are burning and stinging as though I touched something poisonous. My head is spinning and I have a difficult time trying to just breathe. I already went back and forth a couple of time to wash them and have disinfected my surroundings and my hands and the books and everything, yet it’s not helping.

I’ve actually come to that point in my life where I’m once again usually fine and okay with touching library books, for example, but I suppose since I’m already so stressed today, I’m stuck with these old feelings. (I’m desperately trying to not freak out about the what-if scenario that is asking about severe relapses in this regard and wearing gloves again and ending up with wearing them almost 24/7 again and going even beyond that.)

3 hours left to finish these tasks. Wish me strength and luck.


It’s that time of the year again when you have to pay your tuition fees, and once again, nausea and anxiety are the only things I’m capable of feeling. It’s been almost a year since I’ve been discharged from inpatient treatment, almost a year since I should have been finished with my studies, and yet here I am, still stuck, not particularly any closer to anything. I feel pressured, not only by my family, the money issue, but also by myself. I’m quite aware that I should have already finished this and that, that I’m wasting my time, and yet I seemingly cannot help myself when my mental state seems to be getting worse only. I wish I was able to say that I had any particular plan, but since my insurance company has been delaying the start of my new therapy on the basis of shitty bureaucracy, I’m left to my own devices, left to exhaustion and desperation. More often than not I catch myself thinking that nothing really matters, after all, I can always die, right? Death, so it seems, is the only solution I am clinging to, the only thing that won’t ever leave my mind.

Regardless, I’ve been trying to think of new plans, stepping back on and quitting personal projects for the sake of getting a job, taking up loans, moving out, getting things done. I’m not too sure in how far I’ll end up following through with any of it for I still have some research ahead of me, but I just wish I could find the energy to do something – whatever that something is.


I kind of spent the last night looking at different universities for my future M.A. next year. And well, let’s just say I freaked out because suddenly all the plans I’ve made may not be the ones I want after all?
I’m aware of the fact that I had the very same realisation during my IP treatment as well, but since then it’s been a few months and I’ve been pretty much ignoring everything university related due to my unstable mind. And now I’m wondering if I should see my psychiatrist soon to talk about this because thinking about this on my own may end up causing too much anxiety that will keep me from working on my term papers (which REALLY need to be finished this term.) I don’t even know why I started looking at M.A.s in the middle of the night. Never mind reading through all the notes I made about internships at publishing companies.


Just managed to check my mails again, as well as my grades on my university’s site. It’s ridiculous how much energy and anxiety those few clicks cost me when there are other things that are bigger, yet less scary to me. I saw that none of the professors have failed me in my classes, so everything is still “fine” until I set up an appointment with my student counsellor to figure out new deadlines for my papers. I’ll get a doctor’s note from my psychiatrist which will explain why I haven’t been able to be a “proper” student and then I’m hoping I’ll get back on track in the next few months. I have to admit, though, that I’m not feeling better at all these last few weeks; I feel like I need to spend some time on my own to make certain important decisions but I just don’t have that time and my mood isn’t stable enough to decide anything. I’m adding a year to my Bachelor’s degree – which I know isn’t bad, because fuck, I’m studying, I’m going to classes and talking to professors – doing everything I can while fighting every stupid day the urge to jump off a bridge, and yet it still feels like I’m not enough. This desperation is tearing me apart, and regardless of how much I breathe in and out, I just don’t feel like strong enough for any of this at the moment.
And yet, I don’t have a choice. I have to be prepared for any outcome. Whether I stay alive or not is not important at the moment; what’s important is that I have done everything to plan ahead for each scenario. 


Finally managed to see my psychiatrist after at least one month of “I don’t feel like getting out of bed for that” “I’m too tired” and his vacation. As my mood decided to drop rather low and rapidly, I’m forced to increase my medication (which will hopefully help me at least feel a bit more stable.
I have to admit, though, that I rather dislike the words hopefully/hope; they leave such a bitter taste behind.)

On another note, I finally managed to talk to him about ECT – which at this point might be the only way for me to feel for some time better. But for that, I have to make an appointment with a doctor at the psychiatry I was in this year during my inpatient treatment because he’s the only one who deals with that in this city and it’s him who decides if I’m suited for ECT. If I am, then on the one hand that’s okay, I suppose, but on the other hand it means I’d have to go back to IP treatment, which sucks because I just read the full report on my stay and at least half of that is complete bullshit (which is the half on how they treated me and in what state I left the clinic. “In a better mood and less depressed” my arse 👎 I had to leave because I was already three months there and they didn’t want me anymore because staying longer would have meant dealing with more paperwork and my insurance company and apparently doing their job was too much for them.)

And right now,
right now I feel pretty tired and frustrated because these are neither the only things on my mind nor the only appointments I have to manage somehow. Since I am a full-time student I have to find a way to talk to one of the student counsellors about my term papers and their deadlines and dealing with that only means more anxiety and panic attacks I just can’t deal with at the moment. I just wish I could go to sleep and not wake up anymore because trying, year after year, has only made me more miserable than I already was.

10th of J

I can feel exhaustion seeping through my bones, my heart pounding in my chest and anxiety taking over my mind. I feel tainted – soiled; I feel as if I am the big mess, as if I’m looking at myself from the outside, staring blankly at this wreck that is incapable of doing the supposedly easiest things in life (waking up, eating, breathing, getting out of bed), and I hate it. I hate looking at this weak creature, I hate feeling so utterly hopeless and lonely because there is no one beside me, no one able to help me.

Concentrating on anything work/university related is impossible.

(In fact, even writing this feels as if I’m currently digging through the depth of my mind, trying desperately to find the right words, just like someone would try to find gold in some kind of old mine.) Every time I try, I get distracted by the screaming voices inside of my head, every time I try, I feel myself being pulled into another, darker world.

This is getting ridiculous. I hate this – I hate myself.

Today is another day; another day full of longing and yearning, crying without tears, screams without sound. Today is another day, and all I want is to stay in bed, detach myself from reality and stay numb. Maybe if I can convince myself that I’m not here, I’ll slowly disappear.


Do I really want a Master‘s degree or am I only doing that to please my parents‘ view of ‚what I‘m supposed to do for a good life‘`?

Jobs said that we should trust into our own decisions and that we‘ll only be able to „connect the dots“ when we look back – so why can‘t I just do that? Trust into my own judgement. Start with apprenticeships, learn how the world works, make mistakes and live?

I fear that, if I make my own decisions, my parents will let me fall. They didn‘t do that with my brother, but then again he‘s always been a special case, especially in my father‘s eyes. Whenever he did something wrong – they fought and got along again. Whenever I did something wrong, I was ignored (nonexistent) and only forgiven once I crawled back and apologised (even when HE was wrong) and begged.

I guess what I want is for them to support me, even when my decisions differ from theirs. I want them to wish me happiness on whichever path I choose; but I fear that they‘ll never see it the same way, and that scares me. „We only want the best for you“, „We know it better“ – two phrases I‘ve heard all my life, two phrases that completely invalidate me as a person, yet they can‘t see that.

Every time

I feel like I hardly get anything done anymore. The term is almost over and I still need to write two papers till the end of this week (and by the end of this week, I mean Friday). What have I finished so far? Almost nothing, even though one of them is about OCD – and therefore should be easy to write about.

(“It’s one of your disorders, of course you should get this one done easily – but you can’t concentrate, can you?”)

No. No, I can’t, and it’s bothering me terribly much. I really want to be that model student who is capable of balancing everything in her life – but I just can’t.

Concentrating on anything work/university related is impossible. (In fact, even writing this feels as if I’m currently digging through the depth of my mind, trying desperately to find the right words, just like someone would try to find gold in some kind of old mine.) Every time I try, I get distracted by the screaming voices inside of my head, every time I try, I feel myself being pulled into another, darker world.

This is getting ridiculous. I hate this.

I hate myself.

And even though writing about my disorders should really be easily enough for me, writing about OCD has been nothing but triggering for me. As soon as I start reading about it, imagining how I’d structure the sentences, I start picturing the situations and from there on I can just feel myself falling into this big black mess.

Suddenly I can barely see anything, can barely focus on anything. All I hear are the tiny whispers saying that I need to go wash my hands (“RUN! RUN FAST! YOU NEED TO WASH THEM. AND THEN DO IT AGAIN. AND AGAIN, AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN!”), that I need to disinfect every single corner of my room, that I need to put on my gloves again because SCREW IT only wearing them outside and while reading at home and cleaning isn’t cutting it anymore. They remind me of each second that I had to spend on a train or a bus, of each cough and sneeze – and all of the sudden I can’t breathe anymore, can’t think properly, can’t cope, can’t do anything anymore because it’s simply too much. (I should be thankful that it is only picking on one of my obsessions and not on each and every single one. Still…

it’s always too much, too much – too fucking much.

I feel as if I am the big mess, as if I’m looking at myself from the outside, staring blankly at this wreck that is incapable of doing the supposedly easiest things in life, and I hate it.

I hate looking at this weak creature, I hate feeling so utterly hopeless and fucking lonely because there is no one beside me, no one able to help me.

Of course, the support is there – and I’m grateful, I really am – but that’s not what this is about. Support isn’t what I seem to be in need of, yet I can’t say what it is I really need either. (Although a healthy mind would be certainly a great present; in fact, I’m putting it on my wish list right now, so feel free to get me one if you feel extra generous at this moment.)

A few days ago I was told that my life is worthless, that my life is pointless and that I have never ever accomplished anything in my life.

While I disagree strongly with the last part – solely because I believe that surviving so far almost 10 years of pure torture caused by mental disorders is a huge accomplishment and her saying that this is nothing, is also insulting everyone else who has ever suffered from this painful darkness – I simply can’t bring myself to truly argue with the other things. Perhaps she was right, perhaps everyone else is right, perhaps the screaming voices are really telling the truth when they say that my life is worthless, that I am worthless – because if we look at the “right-now”/the present, all we are able to see is a 21 year old being who is barely able to function, who is in pain everyday, and yet no amount of pills will ever be able to fix her, to fix me.

And to be honest, it doesn’t look like it will ever get better, but rather, merely get worse.