DurAnorak (duranorak) wrote,
DurAnorak
duranorak

Please be gone and rest assured I see you as you are

Well, you know what they say about depression - if you can't beat it, you might as well wank around pretentiously on LiveJournal about it for a while.

I've told several people recently that I don't think I've hated myself as much as I do at the moment since I was seventeen, which is really saying something. I don't remember a time since, until now, when what I was feeling wasn't so much depression or wanting to die as the absolute conviction that I should mutilate myself beyond all recognition so as to show the world what I am actually like.

Things I have used to describe myself in the past two weeks : disgusting, weak, whore, abomination, walking abortion, horrific, inhuman. It sounds so much like a bundle of melodrama that I don't want to write about it, but in some ways, writing about it is just another method for me of trying to get people to see how ghastly, broken and revolting I am and go away, like they're supposed to. It's not that I want people to go away, but I want them to want to, because nothing else makes sense, and I like things that make sense.

I don't know where this has come from. We can go over things like the full moon and Mercury retrograde if we really want to, but even if those things do influence thought patterns, they're not the cause of this; that's somewhere inside my head. I did a lot of self-analysis - before therapy, during and in all the time since - and I've got to the bottom of a lot of the bizarre things my brain throws out, but either I never found the root cause of this, or it really is just made up of all the other things stacked on top of each other. In which case I don't know what to do to make it stop, as surely I'd have to make them all stop, and we know how likely that is.

Why now? Well, nothing all that bad has happened to me recently. I think my brain is trying to orchestrate something bad, because it believes I should be punished constantly, and other people are slacking. Do you think we could hire someone to beat the living daylights out of me or something? It would be marginally more entertaining than having to do it myself.

Anyway. Work.

E.
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