So I deleted my facebook apps again, then downloaded them again, then deleted them – repeat.
I wish I could just delete them permanently but I’m so worried about missing out on something.
Looking at the ‘on this day’ tab is a minefield but I cant help myself. I’ve had my fb account about 8 years. I used to post about 10 times a day! Reading all the shite I used to post is cringe worthy. You can tell when I’ve been depressed or hyper from what I’ve posted. You can tell when I’ve been blatantly trying to get someone’s attention or when some man has screwed me over. It’s got me into bother for things I really shouldn’t have posted. I’ve most deffinetly aired my dirty washing for all the world to see. When I first got together with my partner it caused all sorts of problems, he would read my msgs ( more fool me for trusting him and not putting a lock on my iPad) he would go through my timehop, he would always ask why I didnt post anything about him like I did about my ex , ‘I’ve got the best boyfriend in the world’ blah blah blah stupid bitch. Best boyfriend until he dropped me like a sack of shit after a silly argument, refused to talk about it then ignored me til I went away.
Learned my lesson on that one
I don’t post much now. A few incidents have left me feeling like I almost don’t want to tell anyone anything but I still can’t seem to be able to stay away from the bloody thing. I wish I’d never signed up, its evil.
Why is it that sometimes when I find myself in a low mood it can quickly switch to mania which I feel can only be suppressed with a spending spree.
I’m really trying to stop myself at the moment because I’ve been so good lately saving for a house but I’m really tempted to crack the credit card out.
Selling stuff gives me the same feeling of relief but I have to wait longer for it and I’ve ran out of stuff to sell!
It’s a very short lived buzz.
Any other time I hate shopping.
I find that I remember every negative thing that has ever happened to me as clear as day, and they build up and build up and once I start thinking about them I can’t stop until I feel so angry I feel like I’m going to explode
Every nasty comment anyone ever made to me, every bit of abuse I’ve ever gotten from accidently cutting someone up when driving. Every bloke who went out of their way on a night out to come and tell me how ugly I am. Every tiny little mistake I ever made.
And yet every postitive comment goes over my head, I get angry because I know they’re not true and then promptly forget about them.
I feel like the worse person in the world but then I read about murderers and rapists and other terrible people who seem to be able get on and live their lives without the gut wrenching self hatred I feel just for existing.
Right now I’m having suicidal thoughts pretty much every second I’m awake. I don’t mean that I’m actually making plans to kill myself. It’s more like a dull ache, like I’m able to think about other things but it’s playing on a loop in the background of my mind.
For example I can be joking on having a conversation with a colleague while at the same time I’m imagining stabbing my pen into my temple. It’s like a toothache, it’s there all the time but I can still think about other things and act normally. ( normal for me anyway)
I can’t remember if Ive always had this, it’s hard to imagine not feeling like this. But at the same time when I get brief moments of rest from being a headcase it’s hard to imagine feeling like said headcase again.
Now I’ve never been one for smiling, I’m just not a naturally smiley person. If I had a penny for every time someone told me to smile or cheer up I’d be rich. And it boils my piss! If fact it’s nearly come to blows when I was a lot younger and quicker to react.
What gives people the right to comment on my appearance? What if I went around saying ‘oh you’re always so fat, why don’t you ever lose some weight?’
I think this has eaten away at me a lot of the last few years ever since I was out for a Christmas work night out when a colleague said ‘you know everyone at work just thinks you’re a miserable bitch but I think you’re a right laugh’
it must be so nice to live a normal life , to not find every day a constant struggle. To not despise yourself and worry about every move you make and word you say. To feel so awkward and trapped inside your own body.
Must be fucking fabulous.
id love for certain people to live one day with my bullshit thoughts
(But then again I don’t have a single wrinkle and still get regularly IDd in supermarkets, so up yours!)
I think one big reason I don’t want to admit I’m mentally ill is I don’t want a label. Because everyone can be labeled . I have a lot of horrendous personality defects, but does this make me ill or does this just make me an arsehole? Would I rather be ill or just an arsehole? I think this is something I will have to decide at some point.
Every child with the slightest abnormality has a label these days. I sometimes wonder who these children were in my classes at school. Before we had these labels. I wonder what label I would have been given if my defects had ever been picked up, though that’s unlikely, they didn’t even realise I was blind in one eye until it was too late.
Are we all just normal but differently?
Is my supervisor at work a power crazed unpredictable ticking time bomb or is it simply not her fault because she has anger management issues?
where do we draw the line?
Where do I start? I was always an awkward child. I honestly think I was just born ‘wrong’ . I don’t believe I had an usually bad childhood, I have no right to feel how I do but I’ve been trying 30 years ‘snap out of it’ without success. My first memory is me having a massive tantrum over something ridiculous that hadn’t worked out the way I planned , I never grew out of this .
I was chronically shy, would never stand up for myself. Certain things that other people’s parents , teachers or dinner nannies said about me as a child still keep me awake at night.
I went through the awkward teenage years. I stropped about, considered suicide and self harmed, I never grew out of this.
My lowest year was 17 , I think I had some sort of breakdown. I dropped out of college and missed out on great opportunities.
I wish I could grow up.