Tag Archives: anxiety

Propranolol

PropranoLOL more like

way less empty, blank stares muffled words
more loopy smiles, bad jokes and mumbled speeches

feels good man, eyyyyyyy
slow 2 fingers typing and knowing people might withdraw

people have Got to be weirded out
and goddammit shut the fuck up and go and fuck yourself bruh
i need to claw the fuck out of your fucking eyeballs

matttttyyyyyyy ayyyyyyyyyyyy get dat lobster roll.
gurlllll i bet you all up in dis, boyyyyy you know you wanna date the heck outta me

stop chirping fucking crickets

breathe inandouttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt
but also…in…??????omgbreatheinnowcause you’regonnasuffoca

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

should I pop another? raise a hand.

and stop cause i don;t need your allowance auyyyyyyyyy

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Depression as a woman

Imagine feeling empty, sad, hopeless, worthless, directionless and lost.

Anxious and panicky, sensitive to lights, sounds and casual words.

Couple that with monthly intense mood swings, tears that flow easily, body aches and exhaustion, need for sleep throughout the day, aching back and swollen breasts.

Now your emptiness and loneliness is heightened with the consistent flow of blood and unfertilised eggs.

My brain becomes a ticking alarm clock reminding me it’s time for my pill again.

Its choice of alarm tune?

The urge to pop handfuls of pills, to get knock out drunk, to do something, anything to mute the mind and feelings. She doesn’t scream at the back of my mind anymore, but her toxic breath fogs the brain in the meantime.

Up till I take that little pill and go to bed. Things are better when I wake up. But in between, there’s no guarantee what the subconscious will unleash on my sleeping mind.

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Understanding my fear of abandonment

Let’s break it down.

Fear of abandonment.
Afraid to be left behind, to be left alone, to be alone.
To be ignored.
Fear of neglect, silence, disregard.

Fear of a lack of care and concern.
Fear that I am unloved and unwanted.
Fear that I am not worth

attention
attraction
affection

Panic sets in with a fog of fury,
rage and discontent,
outrage and offence,
disbelief and shock.

Worry and anxiety
leading to a need for control
to “get them back”

win them back

their attention and attraction back
putting me once again at number one,
the only one,
nothing should precede me and what I mean to them.

Clingy, desperate, eager to please
yes yes yes to everything just to get a positive response,
to know I am wanted and desired again.
With that, I am therefore kept.

I won’t be alone and tossed aside and made worthless,
useless,
not worth time and effort or love.

Nothing else matters but them behaving as I wish them to be,
or even just how they were talking to me a couple minutes ago.
Even if I was the reason for the change in tone

because I suggested we slow things down
and they just leave me because I don’t want them

and they oblige instead of disagreeing and fighting for me

if they Do fight for me, they appear clingy and I get disgusted.

Ironic.

But when I do it, it’s the only thing that I can do. I can’t focus on anything else but trying to “get them back” and get things back to how they were, to being wanted and loved, to having them text me.

I don’t care that it’s 2am now compared to the 7pm then. That they have work tomorrow or are busy right now, even if they are showering. If they aren’t replying, that means they don’t want me anymore and they might even hate me and are going to ignore me and give me the silent treatment and pretend I do not exist.

 

 

My mom gives me the silent treatment and pretends I don’t exist when she’s angry at me.

When I do something wrong, my parents tell me what a disappointment I am, that their years of bringing me up was for nothing because I ended up like this. It was a waste of their time and effort raising me up, useless to have done anything to have loved me.

They said cruel things like I am the worst child, that I am nothing if my mother dies, that they won’t care if I live or die and I can go and die for all they care.

When they get angry at me, I feel like the worst, cruelest human being on earth, that I don’t deserve to have lived and I am evil. Ungrateful, evil, worthless, not worth being looked at or talked to, mentioned by name or acknowledged as a living being. I become nothing. Ranted about in the third person behind closed doors but with loud petty voice who intend for me to hear everything, yet not worth the effort nor for my existence to be acknowledged by even talking about me in front of me and having me be seen.

 

I would watch as they argued and my dad would blame my mom saying she was at fault for everything, while she told him how useless he was.

I listened and took it in too, because it would be used on me too, the same words. Taught not to get a man like my father, here are all the things NOT to get in a man. Anyone who looked at me and called me beautiful and took what I told them, repackaged and gave it back to me, paid me a smidge of attention, was worth my world. Sad.

I accepted these guys though I knew they weren’t good people or healthy for me because I accepted that my worth was that of being second choice. Never first. That’s why all the married men. Justifying with open marriages is but a weak way to assert my false self-worth to stubborn ol’ me. That’s why till now, part of me thinks that my exes’ breaking up with me because I wasn’t worth being the only one when he was still so young, and not talking to me for a whole week (radio silences) because studies > talking to me, which he felt were tedious like updating his life to a jail warden, are somehow justified.

Why should I be afraid to have them not text back or initiate conversations, to have other people in their lives that aren’t me, or not prioritize me over every and anything. That’s so needy. So dependent. I am worth so so much more.

It’s just not apparent enough to myself just how much I’m worth though.

 

Gotta fix the two of them. Self-worth tied to fear of abandonment, and I have to work on them or I will fall forever into this tar pit of murky, cloying desperation and fear, neediness and full-blown panic attacks, extreme behaviours and controlling habits.

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Before and Now

Things are louder now.

Brighter. 

My ears hurt more; winces are common and confrontations make me curl up.

But the head is occasionally quiet, the screaming at the back no longer around. She must have moved on.

Back then, the emotions are greater, stronger, filling me up like nuclear explosions. Toxic yet captivating. It’s muted now.

Back then I felt more, touched more, connected and fell more. Believed more. There’s the cynic now, squinting away at the brightness of the present.

It was an explosion back then, loud and always expanding, never ending reaches and I felt reckless with how far my emotions spread. Now I see the barriers, I feel the control and the careful, logical constrains. 

Respond, not react.

But am I still me?

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Raped.

Rape victim, Rape survivor.

How passive, how past tensed. But it remains constant in your life.

It remains when you’re walking home late at night, keys between your fingers, poised to pierce.

It remains with every sip of alcohol, never to leave your hand, maximum two glasses, never again the hard stuff only the sweet easy ones. Only female friends around you making sure you’re safe.

It remains when you masterbate and feel guilty for feeling pleasure, cause you have glimpses of memory where you were drunk and enjoying what he was doing to your body.

It remains when you start to fall in love and want to be intimate, wondering if they might in turn rape you too. 

It remains as your past, present and future because once it has happened, you can never gain back that ease and trust, the lightness that some may treat the word like a punchline.

It remains as nightmares and self-loathing for your love and trust and belief in the fundamental goodness of humans.

It remains, now 7 months in. And it will remain in my wariness and my fear and hesitation and doubts and anxiety and tears and emptiness and blood tests and std tests and money and uncertainty about travelling and being alone and looking under the bed in the daytime and watching the curtains fearing who might be behind and turning my back to the door but also trying to stay still and tucked in on all sides with the blanket to prevent any access.

It remains in my fear and disgust and contempt and hatred and sadness in my libido. Betrayed when it ought to dry up and clamp shut, right? The other woman I was made without permission. Othered for what was done to me.

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Cracked

Expulsion.

Dripping, pouring, exposed, leaking.

Dry, rough, ashy, cracked, tears and rips, lines and drags, pulling tight and wrapped.

Expand, pain, screams in my mind, deafening, clench and twisted cramp, twitch twitch.

Spark of anxiety, nausea, nerves, stiffen, swallow, restricted pipes. 

Grey fog slick, thin clogging layer, smog, clouded, broken veins, loose powders, sharp sting of young grapes, quick pumps pit pattering.

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Anxiety

It’s waking up at 6:48am worried you missed your 8am alarm.

It’s dreaming of work and waking up wondering if you’ll get scolded at work today.

It’s having your boss come into the room and having acid reflux, stomach tightening in knots. Fear gripping you with clammy fingers.

It’s your breath catching in your throat as you pump oxygen in and out like cyanide.

It’s crying in bed at nights before sleeping, and waking up to tears as you force yourself out of bed. 

It’s staying home on weekends cause you’re too tired to go out and face more people.

It’s depression coupled with nerves and fear and worries.

It’s knowing you might not be fit for normal work life and wanting xanax or sleeping pills.

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Anxiety 

Jumping between sweet nostalgia and fear lumping in the throat. Panic at the thought of meeting up and connecting, talking and sharing, fear and inability to breathe, constricted throat, wife awake tight lungs.

Sadness, salty singular drops down one cheek and tiny cold winds spreading across the chest before they’re sacked back in or blown away

by the suffocating paralysing fear of connecting and communicating and potentially reconnecting. 

Hunched shoulders making the body small tiny invulnerable protected and hidden 

The fear is big and swallowing me whole starting from the blocked throat tempting me to drag in deep puffs of oxygen and revive the cruel paradox of survival instincts, reaching throughout my belly and soles leaving them knotted and cold, that chill that can not be touched between the layer of atoms preventing us from truly touching anything, forever apart and forbidden true contact with everything for all we feel is the repelling of atoms against ours so the love and touch we draw our comfort from is false. A lie. We are only feeling their repulsion their rejection.

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Graduation

I’m finally done with Studying. I wouldn’t say I’m done with education because I’m planning to learn for the rest of my life.

Pretentious, cliché, but in my country, where education and brainless mugging are synonymous, I must make a stand.

What does it say about my worry wart tendencies when I finished my paper, went for dinner with some course mates, and immediately started worrying about the future?

Here I am, 2:20am, waiting to head to Taiwan in the morning. But the excitement is easily overwhelmed by worries of unemployment, rejection and discrimination from depression and anxiety brought on by a painful, cruel failed relationship, and overdue debt.

Why can’t I just enjoy?

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New log

I’ve been eating a ton, bingeing out because I can’t feel full. I want flavours and textures to exist within me, depth and beauty. So I eat, because it’s easier, better.

I’ve put on quite a bit of weight, I feel so heavy. But for once, I’m not disgusted, hurt, angry, sad, at a loss, looking at the double chin or pot belly

Stretch marks on my thighs. They’re fine.

It’s a little annoying not being able to fit into some of my tighter clothes. But I no longer freak out about the possibility of men not wanting me because of my body. I no longer base my worth as a human being on how well I fit into society’s standard of what size I should be.

I have a deal with a guy I’ve been dating casually. From Sunday on, clean eating, exercising every day, no junk food, more water. And at the end of my exams, we’ll need to have reached our individual goal weights and then we’ll go to a water park. Tbh, I still have remnants of wanting to be slim cause it’s “hotter”. Also, I really wanna be able to wear everything in my wardrobe, without worrying about buffalo wing arms, without being unable to zip up, without being unable to pull it off after pulling it on.

There are times when I still have bad days, and I can’t get out bed, where I cry over my ex, where I cancel my plans and flake on friends. It happens, with the BPD and the anxiety flaring and the rage rearing it’s ugly head, the depression weighing the clouds down. But with my medicine, the occasional mediation and yoga, the counselling, the self-awareness, but things are great these days. So so much better. I’m quite happy actually, and I’m excited again these days.

Laughing at shows, intrigued by sculpture class, wanting to take classes after I start work, having two interviews lined up this Monday and Wednesday (wish me luck), meeting up with friends and trusting them, also not feeling guilty and whorish for liking and having sex. Things are nice.

I do have moments of bingeing on food, alcohol, even sleeping pills, but I know I’m strong enough to overcome the impulsivity and lack of self-control.

I’m not excited about the future per se, and I’ve never been the type to be That excited anyways, but I am starting to have plans again, which means that I actually think it’s worth living for.

Peace,
Aziel

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