I can't work, I can't think, I can't do anything.
No sleep for me tonight probably.
Wednesday, 17 February 2010
Isolation
It's so incredibly isolating being anxious. At least I think it's the anxiety, and not just me. No one seems to truly understand me at all. Perhaps none of us can be understood? Perhaps it is human nature to be locked in our own little world, trapped inside our own consciousness.
Sometimes I wish people cared more. I feel so alone all the time, and I find myself dwelling on every little thing that has ever happened. OCD doesn't just control my life through compulsions, it keeps me in a state of continuous self-loathing where every negative comment, every negative thought I have ever experienced is constantly there in the back of my mind.
I just wish I had the reassurance that I wasn't such a horrible, messed up little girl. I wish someone could make me feel better about myself, but I don't think they can. I'm just something that people are used to, taken for granted. People may be used to my little habits, but they don't understand. How can they? How can anyone know what it is like to suffer with constant obsessions, how can they understand the *need* to be constantly reassured that everything is okay?
Those closest to you aren't immune to assumptions about mental health, aren't exempt from showing the same stigma. Whether it's a tired expression, or accusations of self pity and attention seeking, or just that look that reveals their lack of empathy.
And how much is the illness and how much is just me? It all comes back to this constant obsession that it might just be me, that there might be something wrong with me.
I just want to be looked after. I want to be wanted. I just want to know that I mean something and that I'm not just this burden that won't go away. I wish people would just contact me to see how I am, to let me know they are thinking about me, or just because they can. I want be special for a change.
But I'm just not. And people are fed up of me moaning. My head is so full of things that no one knows.
Sometimes I wish people cared more. I feel so alone all the time, and I find myself dwelling on every little thing that has ever happened. OCD doesn't just control my life through compulsions, it keeps me in a state of continuous self-loathing where every negative comment, every negative thought I have ever experienced is constantly there in the back of my mind.
I just wish I had the reassurance that I wasn't such a horrible, messed up little girl. I wish someone could make me feel better about myself, but I don't think they can. I'm just something that people are used to, taken for granted. People may be used to my little habits, but they don't understand. How can they? How can anyone know what it is like to suffer with constant obsessions, how can they understand the *need* to be constantly reassured that everything is okay?
Those closest to you aren't immune to assumptions about mental health, aren't exempt from showing the same stigma. Whether it's a tired expression, or accusations of self pity and attention seeking, or just that look that reveals their lack of empathy.
And how much is the illness and how much is just me? It all comes back to this constant obsession that it might just be me, that there might be something wrong with me.
I just want to be looked after. I want to be wanted. I just want to know that I mean something and that I'm not just this burden that won't go away. I wish people would just contact me to see how I am, to let me know they are thinking about me, or just because they can. I want be special for a change.
But I'm just not. And people are fed up of me moaning. My head is so full of things that no one knows.
Sunday, 7 February 2010
Waiting
The thing that annoys me more than anything about suffering from a mental health problem is the time it takes for every stage of the process:
Visit the doctor. Wait. Invite for referral appointment. Wait. Appointment. Wait. Second Appointment. Wait. Diagnosis. Wait. Treatment Plan. Wait. Treatment.
I understand the NHS has a lot of patients, many of whom will have serious and life threatening conditions that need a lot more time and money than those of us with depression, anxiety and other disorders, but I can't help but feel mental health isn't taken seriously. Anxiety has a massive impact on a person's life, and when you are so frightened you are redued to merely shaking, you shouldn't be expected to wait.
Two months has passed since I saw my doctor. I have no fixed diagnosis, no treatment plan, no number to phone in a crisis. Nothing. And the longer I wait, the more anxious I become that they are just going to forget. I hate living with this anxiety and yet even when I ask for help, nothing seems to happen.
Visit the doctor. Wait. Invite for referral appointment. Wait. Appointment. Wait. Second Appointment. Wait. Diagnosis. Wait. Treatment Plan. Wait. Treatment.
I understand the NHS has a lot of patients, many of whom will have serious and life threatening conditions that need a lot more time and money than those of us with depression, anxiety and other disorders, but I can't help but feel mental health isn't taken seriously. Anxiety has a massive impact on a person's life, and when you are so frightened you are redued to merely shaking, you shouldn't be expected to wait.
Two months has passed since I saw my doctor. I have no fixed diagnosis, no treatment plan, no number to phone in a crisis. Nothing. And the longer I wait, the more anxious I become that they are just going to forget. I hate living with this anxiety and yet even when I ask for help, nothing seems to happen.
Saturday, 6 June 2009
Pissed Off and Fed up
I can't take this anymore, it's driving me mad. And everyone thinks it's my fault
And I hate revision.
I wish I would just disappear
And I hate revision.
I wish I would just disappear
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
Non mi piace l'italiano
Scrivo in l'italiano perche devo studiare per i essami. Non mi piace studiare l'italion e mi piacerrebe studiare il tedesco o solo la storia. Credo che l'italiano sia piu dificile di inglese. Sono stupido.
I am going to fail my exam. I am pancking immensely right now. Perche studiare l'italiano? Il tedesco e piu facile! I can't even put the accents in on here!
Grrrrrrrrr
I am going to fail my exam. I am pancking immensely right now. Perche studiare l'italiano? Il tedesco e piu facile! I can't even put the accents in on here!
Grrrrrrrrr
Friday, 8 May 2009
Empty
I'm really struggling today. I need to pour my heart out but I do not have the right means to write at the moment.
Argh, this isn't helping.
Argh, this isn't helping.
Tuesday, 21 April 2009
I know I'm a hyperchondriac
...but I'm pretty certain it's not normal to be tachychardic on a regular basis. I'm actually beginning to get quite worried about my pulse rate, which is consistently above 100 and often closer to 120 bpm. Combined with my slightly lower than average blood pressure, and it doesn't quite seem normal.
So I googled the symptoms, which, as any hyperchondriac will tell you, is a very stupid thing to do. To be honest, that particular research experiment didn't cause too many worries, since the high pulse- low blood pressure combination can be practically anything. What it did do, however, was remind me of all the other little things that have felt vaguely abnormal in the last few months: the random lump in my neck, the strange palpitation-chest-pain-thing, the earchache that has never quite cleared up...the list goes on.
Sometimes, I wish I could just admit myself to hospital and have all the tests humanly possible. Maybe that would stop my underlying anxiousness. But then maybe that would anger the health service. It's a hard life fearing the power of your own body.
I just hope the pulse goes down.
So I googled the symptoms, which, as any hyperchondriac will tell you, is a very stupid thing to do. To be honest, that particular research experiment didn't cause too many worries, since the high pulse- low blood pressure combination can be practically anything. What it did do, however, was remind me of all the other little things that have felt vaguely abnormal in the last few months: the random lump in my neck, the strange palpitation-chest-pain-thing, the earchache that has never quite cleared up...the list goes on.
Sometimes, I wish I could just admit myself to hospital and have all the tests humanly possible. Maybe that would stop my underlying anxiousness. But then maybe that would anger the health service. It's a hard life fearing the power of your own body.
I just hope the pulse goes down.
Musings
I'm in a rather penseive mood at the moment. As always, I seem to have drifted aimlessly to here with little sense of purpose other than to contemplate life. It sometimes bothers me that I only ever seem to right when I am upset or reflective; that every post implies negativity and doubt. Of all the blogs I have seen and read, only mine seems to dwell so much on my own thoughts, with so little acknowledgement of the wider world.
Sometimes, I think I should comment on the things that I am interested in. I often have very strong opinions and yet I never seem to voice them, even here. Perhaps I should comment on current affairs, politics or even the current economic climate. But then perhaps I should not. This has always been simply a place to write as things come to mind.
I did briefly contemplate starting a second blog in order to compensate for this need to comment on other things. I still can't decide whether that would be wise. Perhaps I will gradually feed more critique into this space; start to use this blog more constructively rather than a point of release for the tension that builds up inside me. This is not my space to rant, but a place of thoughts and feelings.
Writing this has calmed me down. I hadn't really realised that I was tense, but there was clearly something causing me subconscious discomfort. I feel another post coming on. I can feel topics inside me fighting to get out. Perhaps tonight I will post prolifically. Writing solves all ills.
Sometimes, I think I should comment on the things that I am interested in. I often have very strong opinions and yet I never seem to voice them, even here. Perhaps I should comment on current affairs, politics or even the current economic climate. But then perhaps I should not. This has always been simply a place to write as things come to mind.
I did briefly contemplate starting a second blog in order to compensate for this need to comment on other things. I still can't decide whether that would be wise. Perhaps I will gradually feed more critique into this space; start to use this blog more constructively rather than a point of release for the tension that builds up inside me. This is not my space to rant, but a place of thoughts and feelings.
Writing this has calmed me down. I hadn't really realised that I was tense, but there was clearly something causing me subconscious discomfort. I feel another post coming on. I can feel topics inside me fighting to get out. Perhaps tonight I will post prolifically. Writing solves all ills.
Tuesday, 7 April 2009
A plea
I feel like there's nothing right about me anymore. All I ever seem to hear is the negative: what I shouldn't do, what I've done wrong, what I'm bad at.
Is there nothing good about me?
Is there nothing good about me?
Saturday, 14 March 2009
Digestive difficulties...
Despite what some people may think, I generally don't complain that much about my digestive problems. Admittedly I am quite openly anxious when I don't have my medication, or if I eat certain foods but on the whole, I just accept that my stomach doesn't like food.
So when I start moaning about it now, it's because it's really, really bad. I hate having to sit next to the bathroom for hours waiting for it to pass, watching my stomach balloon and feeling sick. I hate that sometimes you just can't make it in time. And that it disrupts the whole day.
I just want to go home and instead I am sat outside the bathroom door. Typical.
So when I start moaning about it now, it's because it's really, really bad. I hate having to sit next to the bathroom for hours waiting for it to pass, watching my stomach balloon and feeling sick. I hate that sometimes you just can't make it in time. And that it disrupts the whole day.
I just want to go home and instead I am sat outside the bathroom door. Typical.
Friday, 27 February 2009
You
I am sat opposite you, and I am happy.
I don't know what it is about your presence that seems to calm me down, but somehow you have always had this effect on me. Even when you barely knew me, you had this amazing capacity to make me feel safe and protected. Only a really special friend could ever do that.
You look really lovely when you are concentrating. You keep telling me that you are going to revise, but we both know you are reading blogs and forums on the things you actually enjoy. We both know this and we both don't mind; it makes me smile to know that you are happy and somehow you accept my half-hearted attempts to stear you back to work.
Sometimes, I like to just watch you. All those tiny little movements that you don't even realise you are doing fascinate me. I just want to wrap my arms around you and hold you tight, and never let you go. It's strange how much I want to protect you when it is you that makes me feel protected. You rescued me before Christmas, you kept me safe.
You still save me every day.
I don't know what it is about your presence that seems to calm me down, but somehow you have always had this effect on me. Even when you barely knew me, you had this amazing capacity to make me feel safe and protected. Only a really special friend could ever do that.
You look really lovely when you are concentrating. You keep telling me that you are going to revise, but we both know you are reading blogs and forums on the things you actually enjoy. We both know this and we both don't mind; it makes me smile to know that you are happy and somehow you accept my half-hearted attempts to stear you back to work.
Sometimes, I like to just watch you. All those tiny little movements that you don't even realise you are doing fascinate me. I just want to wrap my arms around you and hold you tight, and never let you go. It's strange how much I want to protect you when it is you that makes me feel protected. You rescued me before Christmas, you kept me safe.
You still save me every day.
Thursday, 26 February 2009
Ramblings...
Sometimes when I am tired, the only thing I find myself wanting to do is write. I don't have anything particular to write about, but short of anything better to do, I don't see the harm in just rambling to myself.
I sometimes wonder what someone might think if they read these thoughts and observations. Most of my posts have been written during periods of self doubt and anxiety; most of them show the sad side of me that has recently developed. It saddens me that that part of me has been able to dominate recently, and that I have lost a lot of how I used to be.
And somehow that has silenced me.
I sometimes wonder what someone might think if they read these thoughts and observations. Most of my posts have been written during periods of self doubt and anxiety; most of them show the sad side of me that has recently developed. It saddens me that that part of me has been able to dominate recently, and that I have lost a lot of how I used to be.
And somehow that has silenced me.
Losing interest
So it seems I have the attention span of a small insect. Having spent all day doing nothing, I've come home, checked my emails multiple times and so far avoided work. Or more specifically, I've opened the article I'm meant to be reading, stared at the page for a while and then decided that there are so many better things to do....
So I've ultimately retreated to this blog. And sat here with my cup of tea and my reflective mood, it's suddenly dawned on me that I hae increasingly lost interest in a lot of things recently. I used to work extremely hard, reading for hours on end and actually taken some enjoyment out of it and yet now, it's a small miracle if I can manage to read a ten page article in under an hour without resorting to just random doodles.
But it's not just my work that seems to have suffered as I have grown older, it's a lot of my other hobbies too. At one point, I practised three instruments and played in an Orchestra, I acted as stage manager twice a year and studied Spanish and Esperanto in my spare time. Now, it's a mircale if I actually achieve anything in my day other than the required actions of getting up, eating, attending a few lectures and ultimately going back to bed.
Perhaps it's an age thing; perhaps we lose our capacity to manage so many different activities as we grow older. Or maybe we have more responsibilities that prevent us from engaging in something we enjoy. In my case, I think it's more that I am out of habit. I have spent so long in a dark place that does not permit "fun" that I know longer know how to have it. Maybe I can change that again.
So I've ultimately retreated to this blog. And sat here with my cup of tea and my reflective mood, it's suddenly dawned on me that I hae increasingly lost interest in a lot of things recently. I used to work extremely hard, reading for hours on end and actually taken some enjoyment out of it and yet now, it's a small miracle if I can manage to read a ten page article in under an hour without resorting to just random doodles.
But it's not just my work that seems to have suffered as I have grown older, it's a lot of my other hobbies too. At one point, I practised three instruments and played in an Orchestra, I acted as stage manager twice a year and studied Spanish and Esperanto in my spare time. Now, it's a mircale if I actually achieve anything in my day other than the required actions of getting up, eating, attending a few lectures and ultimately going back to bed.
Perhaps it's an age thing; perhaps we lose our capacity to manage so many different activities as we grow older. Or maybe we have more responsibilities that prevent us from engaging in something we enjoy. In my case, I think it's more that I am out of habit. I have spent so long in a dark place that does not permit "fun" that I know longer know how to have it. Maybe I can change that again.
Tuesday, 24 February 2009
Stupidity
Sometimes I really do wonder what is wrong with people. A friend of my Oma once said that all people should be sterilised at birth, since our stupidity has created a world that isn't right for something so innocent as a baby.
People are so very stupid.
And what is more, I am fed up of people telling me I am wrong when they don't come up with any solutions themselves. I'm not always wrong!!!!
Sometimes I wonder whether it is sadness or anger that I feel the most.
People are so very stupid.
And what is more, I am fed up of people telling me I am wrong when they don't come up with any solutions themselves. I'm not always wrong!!!!
Sometimes I wonder whether it is sadness or anger that I feel the most.
Monday, 23 February 2009
Giving In
I just can't win.
I said I would do it; no one else volunteered. Now it's being taken over. This is happening and that is happening and it doesn't matter what I think anymore because the alternative has already been decided on. This was MY thing and now it's not.
But I am wrong to get upset by this; I am bad for being upset that my thing has been taken away from me.
I just don't get what I'm meant to do. So I give in.
I said I would do it; no one else volunteered. Now it's being taken over. This is happening and that is happening and it doesn't matter what I think anymore because the alternative has already been decided on. This was MY thing and now it's not.
But I am wrong to get upset by this; I am bad for being upset that my thing has been taken away from me.
I just don't get what I'm meant to do. So I give in.
Frustration
I find life unbelievably frustrating. Another day slips away and I have acheived nothing and have not enjoyed anything either. I spend so much time alone, I don't know how to have fun anymore.
And it's frustrating, because there's lots of things I would like to do, I just have no one to do them with. I want to go to Wroclaw and see the place my Grandma was born; I want to see the place of her childhood and I want to feel connected to her again. I really wish she had been buried. I keep trying to talk to her but I can't find her in the pool of thoughts and fears. I want to feel that connection again. And yet there's no one to go with, there is no one that can understand the significance of a place that has meaning only the context of a relationship I no longer have. Why would anyone else want to roam the streets where my Grandma once laughed and played?
I also want to go to Aushwitz. Going to a concentration camp is something that I believe is a fundamental part of modern life. I don't think anyone can even begin to understand the war until they have stood in a gas chamber and felt the feeling. I've been to Dachau and I was humbled. I want to go to Aushwitz because I want to share a part of that pain. No one else seems to get that. I think when you are German, or part German, there's this inherent sense of guilt that makes it all the more important to see it for yourself. Not everyone feels like that.
To be honest, I just need to get out of here. I need to feel that rush that travel brings. I've wanted to go inter-railing since I was fifteen, but I've never had enough friends, or even a single friend that could or would come with me. And deep down, my desire to go is stronger than my desire for companionship on the way. I want to see the world and experience it, and I'm quite happy to do that alone if no one else will come with me. I hate that this world is not safe enough for me to just wander the world on my own.
I don't even just want to travel abroad. I actually really love history and yet I rarely get to actually explore my interest. I live right next to a major castle, and yet I have never been because all my friends went without me, and no one else is interested enough. I live within easy reach of Stratford, and yet I've never been to the theatre there, or to any of the Shakespeare properties. It's such a waste. And yet it's so hard to enjoy these things alone; the one thing I always seem to be at the moment.
I'm so frustrated with life. Sometimes I really struggle to see the point of it at all.
And it's frustrating, because there's lots of things I would like to do, I just have no one to do them with. I want to go to Wroclaw and see the place my Grandma was born; I want to see the place of her childhood and I want to feel connected to her again. I really wish she had been buried. I keep trying to talk to her but I can't find her in the pool of thoughts and fears. I want to feel that connection again. And yet there's no one to go with, there is no one that can understand the significance of a place that has meaning only the context of a relationship I no longer have. Why would anyone else want to roam the streets where my Grandma once laughed and played?
I also want to go to Aushwitz. Going to a concentration camp is something that I believe is a fundamental part of modern life. I don't think anyone can even begin to understand the war until they have stood in a gas chamber and felt the feeling. I've been to Dachau and I was humbled. I want to go to Aushwitz because I want to share a part of that pain. No one else seems to get that. I think when you are German, or part German, there's this inherent sense of guilt that makes it all the more important to see it for yourself. Not everyone feels like that.
To be honest, I just need to get out of here. I need to feel that rush that travel brings. I've wanted to go inter-railing since I was fifteen, but I've never had enough friends, or even a single friend that could or would come with me. And deep down, my desire to go is stronger than my desire for companionship on the way. I want to see the world and experience it, and I'm quite happy to do that alone if no one else will come with me. I hate that this world is not safe enough for me to just wander the world on my own.
I don't even just want to travel abroad. I actually really love history and yet I rarely get to actually explore my interest. I live right next to a major castle, and yet I have never been because all my friends went without me, and no one else is interested enough. I live within easy reach of Stratford, and yet I've never been to the theatre there, or to any of the Shakespeare properties. It's such a waste. And yet it's so hard to enjoy these things alone; the one thing I always seem to be at the moment.
I'm so frustrated with life. Sometimes I really struggle to see the point of it at all.
Friday, 20 February 2009
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