Psych Appointment

I have the first of my stop-gap psychologist appointments for while I’m back home over the summer today. I really don’t know what to do, I’m an accomplished enough at hiding the truth about how I feel that I could get away without saying anything. The alternative would probably be undesirable. I don’t want to deal with the crisis team again. I can’t have them coming to my house and still be able to tell my mum that I’m ok. She’ll start crying again and wanting to come up with a magic quick fix and just flat out tell me that I’m wrong about myself. She has no idea.

5 pills in. 12 hours left until dosing time.


It’s so tiring pretending that everything’s ok and I’m not worrying. I’m in a no win situation with my mum, if I don’t tell her what’s wrong then she gets upset but when I explained how I felt she got even worse and started trying to make me come home from uni. I don’t know why she thinks quitting the only thing that gives me even a tiny possibility of being able to make anything of my life would make things better. I’d really have zero reasons to stick around if that were the case.

Every day is just turning into a blur for me right now. It’s always the same; get up go to a lecture, don’t talk to anyone, possibly eat, go on the computer, sleep. That could describe every day since I’ve been there, of course it was the same before except I had no lectures to go to. I’m not sure I can stand a life of such drudgery. I had a few months of the same pattern but with a job instead of lectures and it was no less painful. Not even the money made life seem worth living (even though I had practically no expenses so I could buy whatever I wanted). That was the first time I wrote a suicide note. It explained about my social anxiety (although I hadn’t heard of the condition, I just descibed the symptoms) and how everyone there made me feel like shit every single day.

There was a time when I was just happy enough to be ignored and left alone, it’s a lot better than being hit or mentally ground down of course, but it’s not enough any more. I don’t know how I imagined life would be for me at 24, but I probably wouldn’t expect to be exactly the same as I was 10 or more years ago. Still the odd one out, the misfit and a punchline for people’s cruel laughter. I feel so sorry for people who genuinely are deformed, I wish I didn’t have to say this but someone always has to point out that “it could be worse”, I do realise how good I have things and that does make me feel incredibly guilty on top of everything else. I never stood a chance really, maybe you can get away with being an empty headed bore if you look fairly decent or at least like a normal human, and you can probably get away with being hideous if you are really funny and good to be around, but I have no redeeming qualities.

The only thing I can think of that I don’t despise about myself is that I don’t fool myself into thinking I’m better than I really am. I am under no illusions about what a failure I am. Unfortunately this is why I have my doubts about CBT because it seems like I’d have to delude myself in order for it to work. It’s the same problem I have with any book or method of dealing with low self esteem or SA, they are all based on the assumption that it’s all in your head and you aren’t so ugly that people literally point and laugh in your face, or that nobody is watching how you walk or laugh or speak and thinking that it’s strange, when I have been told that on multiple occasions and then became afraid to laugh and had to force myself to change the way I did so that they’d stop mocking me. Oh and these were supposedly ‘friends’. They never tell you what to do if the negative assumptions about yourself are true and you do have evidence that supports it, they just assume that you don’t have evidence and that is meant to convince you to think differently. There are no books or courses I can find on how to live with being a socially undeveloped freak with a face that scares small children.

I’m so sick of being this monster. When I walk down the street I feel my eyes start to water and I become tense whenever I catch the eye of someone looking at me like something they trod in. I’m sick of this ridiculous face that broadcasts my inadequacy to the world like a beacon of patheticness. I just want to stab myself sometimes, though it is sort of fitting that I have a body that so accurately reflects the loathsome, repugnant waste of life that I am inside too.

I don’t belong anywhere. Death is constantly on my mind, I imagine the pratically empty funeral and think about how easily everyone’s (apart from my family) life will go on. I don’t have any friends who’ll be left behind, certainly no-one who knows me will wonder why, it’s more likely that they’ll wonder I waited this long. I’m alone again now, my mum is out until tomorrow evening. This is the most dangerous time but there’s no way I can tell anyone who culd possibly intervene, I don’t want wrapping up in a metaphorical straight jacket.