Andy

Ten days since starting new meds, feeling better. No problem with bowel movements and getting proper sleep, feeling sleepy on most nights. No suicidal thoughts. Is this recovery? 
          
          I even read a lot, read 400 pages in two days and already 70 pages today and didn't need to watch kdramas in the last three four days. Scared to believe this will be long-lasting but grateful for what it is as of now.

Angry again. Hate people who ask for help and vocalise their discomfort or unpleasantness about something. While I hide my true feelings and mask all day. Dad says it's good to be vulnerable sometimes, allows people to come closer, symbiotic relationships. What I wouldn't give to be perfect. Independent yet vulnerable. Strong yet able to ask for help. Smart yet open about struggling. But sadly, I'm one and not two. Half of one even. Anger is it jealousy? Is it anger from desperation? Is it righteous anger over others who reveal their weakness? Is it my hidden desire to be like them? Would I ever achieve an ideal balance between these two poles? Is it just anger from hunger? Or from fatigue? Or the side effect of changing the order of medicine intake. Or result of masking? Who cares in the end. Doesn't matter. Does it? 

Hate eating but need to finish brealfast to take meds. Time running out but my hand refuses to reach out and grab the bread. Chew idiot. Swallow you pathetic fool. Meaningless waste of time. Eat and have the pill and drag you ass to work. How much longer will you allow yourself to wallow in self pity and then hate yourself for wasting time? Aren't you tired of this stupid cycle? Why cant you change anything? You have no control, you are useless. Why are you still here? Why don't you just stop existing, waste of space, imbecile.

Cant tell mom, she doesn't understand. Cant tell dad, he is too busy. Cant tell friends, they have their own problems and life obligations. Dont have a partner to vent to. Cant write diary regularly because it feels like a hassle and pointless in the end. Can't tell social networks because unwanted advices will flood my inbox. Can't tell doctor because he is busy and only spend 10-15mins on each patient for which i pay him 2k bucks, cant tell therapist because she wasnt sensitive enough. Cant tell teachers, have none currently and past ones are too distant and future ones wont semect me if i seem problematic. Who can i tell then? 

New meds that were prescribed is usually used to treat epilepsy or bipolar. Should i feel relieved? Finally the doc listened to what i say and gave me something that is used to treat what i think i have?! But what if at the diagnosis statement it's still overlooked? What if these meds give me rash and i have to drop it after buying three strips of it and then he gives me another batch of meds which is no longer related to bipolar? What if it doesnt help me but makes things worse? What if it takes another month to realise its not the right fit for me either? What if i cant complete the tasks i need to finish by next week? What if i become useless and paralysed? When can i stop this fight against the invisible? When will i be able to take a break? When can i relax? When can i enjoy without worrying about the aftermath of euphoria. When can i stop being afraid of the imminent crash? Sweep the soil under my feet and let me drown in quick sand, erase me from the face of earth and hide me deep underneath the layers, just make it stop.

Being lonely is weird. Suddenly my ex sent me a text. After 3-4 months. And it brought back memories like a flashback. Intimate moments, laughs, eye contact, the initial period of tension, the eventual comfort, scenes from our entangled lives, walking hand in hand after grocery shopping, etc and for a split second, a kind of longing crept back in my mind. We weren't even together for more than 3 months. We haven't talked for longer than the time we dated and yet because i feel anxious, because i'm lonely, because he meant something at one point, because when he said he isn't doing so well, a part of me wanted to respond back immediately and ask what's wrong... knowing fully he wouldn't want to talk. Literally said so in the text, that he can't respond even though it's been so long cause he isn't doing well. Still the voice in my head murmurs, but he texted. Despite being low or down, despite not being a person who likes texting much, despite us being over and it being pointless to respond to me, he still did. Doesn't that count? 

Self hate washing down me again. Stoked by hunger and guilt. It's almost 3pm and I wasted the whole morning and afternoon until now doing nothing. Just scrolling on instagram. Doing nothing. I have so much to do, so much pending work to finish, profs I should be contacting, and instead I tear the days up into shreds, wasting every passing minute until the hours go by like sand in the storm. Or dust in the wind. So angry at myself for not being strong enough, because being unable to study feels like being weak and defeated. I hate being weak. I hate feeling anxious when I don't want to, I hate this version of myself that can't get anything useful done. I feel useless hopeless and unbearable. Disgusting, pathetic, waste of space. None of the words I lash out myself digs deep enough to make me stand up again. I want to whip myself into action but instead my mind just wants to shut up and close its eyes and hibernate. Keep postponing the start. Why does this keep happening? What the fxck are those meds for if in the end it still ends up messing with my head, to top that now i have physical problems to deal with too. Everything feels like a hassle. I am frequently having ideations again. But can qi share it with anyone? Nope. Breath, don't think about how nice it would be if someone else could just swoop in and end all this for me. Pick up and throw me into oblivion, make me immobile and mindless, so I never have to worry about doing things, not being able to do things, etc. So I never have to worry again. Break me free. Run me over. Spill my guts. Squeeze my throat. Gag my voice. Chop my head. Cut my tongue. Jab me in the stomach. Stab me in the back. Bleed me to freedom. Show me mercy. Let my demons loose.

If only I could get suced in by a fantasy story and not have to face real problems of my life rn

Eat. I tellmyself repeatedly in my head. Eat. Eat. But why can't I start? Are the meds really working? They did for the last ten days right, it's okay, it's just the lunar cycle. In two days this will be over. Every girl faces this. It's fine. Eat. Eat. Eat.

My mental negative self talk is coming back again. Ten days of respite, did you start expecting things to get better now? It's taunting me again, trying to pick at my wounds and inflict more pain. If I had autism, I wound probably start hitting my head or clapping my ears and shouting due to the sensory overload. But fortunately, I'm not autistic, so all I can do is sit numb and wish it would all stop, beg for mercy from an all knowing never responding superior being. Oblivious to our complains. The food is getting cold. I pushed myself to get up pushed myself to ask mom to give me food pushed myself to wash my face and forced myself to come sit in my room with the food in front of me. My stomach hurts from hunger and yet my fingers keep typing trying to ignore the internal lashing out of my sick mind. Doubts and fear. Anxiety. Taunts. Anger and hatred directed towards myself. Frustration over my helplessness. Self pity and more exhaustion floods my brain. Over and over again. Like waves of crabs scurrying across a sand desert.