I am a product of my anxiety. And I fucking hate it

Another job rejection email.

I feel that same sinking feeling I usually do when I’ve been rejected, yet again.

My heart sinks and my head is full of lead.

I brush it off, and proceed to continue with the lecture I am currently attending. At university. To better myself, supposedly.

But the black, thick cloud of doubt has settled itself inside my brain. It placed itself neatly onto a comfy plush sofa in the corner, put its feet up and grabbed a magazine.

It wiggled its bum into the cushion to get comfy, grabbed the cup of tea from the coffee table and has settled in for the long haul.

The Black Cloud of Doubt will no doubt be with me for the rest of the day. And I’ll go back to my flat, where I’m currently staying to see the academic year out, and I’ll start this blog.

Because, as I was walking back home for lunch I was desperately searching for domain names on the internet. Hoping the one I wanted was free.

I’d been thinking about blogging my experiences for a while. Because I think some of you – the audience – the readers – the viewers – will feel what I am feeling. Sometimes, all of the time. Maybe every single day.

What is wrong with me?

I ask this almost every single time I’m overcome with my feelings of worthlessness.

And it happens often.

Shall we journey together on this one now?

I searched the forums and they’re far too complicated. Too many rules – too many people jostling for space.

I tried counselling, it doesn’t help. I tried the medication for one week, I didn’t need it.

Say it out loud, what I have. I’m telling myself to type out the words. I’m nervous. Tell the internet what I am. How I feel. Go on… type it.

I watch the cursor blink at me for a few seconds.


I am a product of my anxiety. And I fucking hate it.


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