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.