Rejection is a bitch

After having gone through the stages of grief; in my opinion – denial, shock, distress, anger, sadness, acceptance, I’ve now come to the point where I am looking to rejoin the land of the living.

I won’t lie to you. Financial pressure is one of the reason I am considering this.

I’ve taken two months off work so far. But I still feel like I am not ready to go back to work. I am still largely unable to function properly. I can’t complete simple tasks, even at home in my personal life.

I was feeling okay recently, and applying to a couple of jobs – when I received a rejection for a role I was particularly interested in. Needless to say, rejection is a bitch to deal with, and so it has sent me on a downer.

It’s made me feel like I need to claw back desperately to cling onto anything this world is offering me to feel like I am worth something. That I am not just left red-faced on the back of the humiliation of rejection.

Now, I am wondering whether to beg for my old job back. The one I just couldn’t face day to day. Is it really the answer to push yourself back into doing something you know is not making you happy out of necessity?

The job was fine though. It is just difficult. And I am trying to avoid anything difficult in my life right now. That’s funny; seeing as all I’ve ever done is make my own life difficult because I’ve never felt like I am good enough.

And here comes the crux of the matter. It is purely BECAUSE I feel like I am not good enough, that it costs me A LOT of mental energy to participate in society. This is why I am finding life (and working) difficult. And that COST is what is killing me. It’s what is making me tired. It’s why I needed a rest.

So – I may go back to work very soon. But at what cost? If I go back and I am not ready, will I just fall again? How long do I wait, till my debts and my finances are at such a stretch that everything begins to fall apart?

We all live our lives like zombies – to pay the bills. Right? That’s what it boils down to.

So who am I? What is the point of me? Do I work to live, or live to work?





I always want to be raw and honest about my struggles in this blog. This is what it is for.

My anonymity is what is keeping this blog in the public domain.

But I am wondering whether to join the battle in exposing taboos around mental illness by making Youtube vlogs. I will be considering this.

I grieve, but not because of death

Is it possible to grieve without death?

To grieve is to mourn a loss. A loss so great that it hurts every day.

Today, after having cried so hard last night before bed that my blood vessels burst in my face, and after having cried again this morning after pushing myself to go running in the woods (the only thing that makes me feel like I’m moving forward) I talked to myself about what I am grieving over.

I listed all of the things I am mourning – and in most cases they are not losses in themselves. They are a grief for what could have been; not what once was. If you catch my drift.

I tried to give myself therapy, by asking that same little girl inside of me, the one so humiliated, and that same woman that I was ten years ago, the one so degraded from then up till this very day, to feel comforted because I was here. The older me, the learned me, the experienced and knowledgeable me. I’m here, and I’m proud of me.

But that only works to some degree. I’m a writer. That’s what I did for work, that’s what I have done since I was a child. Dear reader, I CANNOT WRITE.

I spend my days eating too much, watching films and TV. And spending money I don’t have. The only things I do of any significance towards my supposed recovery are running and swimming. I guess that’s something. Some of the time I am okay, most of the time I present to my family and friends as okay. But I am not.

Yet, I know that doing nothing and spending time at home, after quitting my job, is supposed to be helping me get over my grief. So that I can live some sort of life.

But I don’t seem to be healing. Or maybe I am, and I just don’t know it.

The fact remains I am grieving now, more than I have ever grieved since I was a child.

And the only death involved in this griefpexels-photo-302804.jpeg will surely be mine.


I gave myself therapy, and I can’t go on any longer

Since I was a child, I have given myself cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT).

I have never been particularly interested in jumping on the bandwagon about mental health, and have always fought through my anxiety and depression.

Recently, I quit my dream job, which I had worked so hard to get, because I just couldn’t continue with life anymore. I basically ran out of steam.

Now, I’ve begun to follow people suffering with mental health issues, and also mental health charities via blogs, social media and vlogs.

Never have I felt so alone.

I read posts, and experiences and offers of ‘help’. And it just makes me angry.

I’ve never been taken seriously with my issues. My family don’t really know how to deal with it, and counselling failed me. I have a couple of sessions before I gave up in anger.

The recent ‘therapist’ also put some wild accusations about me, which are stuck in my medical records forever now. I can’t tell you how angry I am.

I have dealt with my issues alone. I have NEVER taken medication. I took Sertraline just once for a few days. I immediately stopped.

I am angry that I have had to live with myself in this way, and I have done EVERYTHING to try and live a normal life. I have pushed, and punished myself continuously. And for what? Now that I’ve crashed and burned, who is here to pick me up?

I have to do it all by myself, and feel tremendous amounts of guilt that I have to quit something I worked so hard for.

The only people supporting me is my immediate family. When people tell you help is out there: it isn’t.

No one fully understands mental health and on top of that there is a stigma that people say they want to shake, but they won’t.

A lot of people deny that mental health is an actual illness. But, I am living proof that I have tried to live a normal life with no help, WITH SEVERE ANXIETY. And even I have got to a point where I’m so exhausted that I can’t even carry my limbs properly.

What help can someone give? Artificial drugs? Give you ‘therapy’ that you’ve already given yourself?

I’ll get up again, dust myself off, and soldier on like I always do, when I’ve had a rest.

But who is to say, that the next time I crash and burn, that someone will be there to look after me that time?

And if I commit suicide, I’m selfish. And if I self-harm, it’s ‘common’. And if I go to the GP, I’m just another candidate for the ‘drug candy’ doctors so carelessly chuck at you.

AND IF I QUIT LIFE FOR A WHILE, which is what I have done now, I’m a quitter. I’m a loser. I’m a nobody. Well, that isn’t true. But it’s how the world makes you feel.

And if I didn’t quit, it’s okay just as long as I pay my tax, and spend my money on useless shit with credit I’ll pay back with difficulty. It doesn’t matter that my brain is slowly turning to mush.

This ‘we care’ bullshit. It isn’t real. So buckle up, soldier. The war is still going on, and this is just one of the battles you’ve lost.


My feelings will kill me one day

Today I woke up, feeling slightly better than last night; where I tried to take a knife with a serrated edge to my arm and draw blood.

I didn’t fortunately, but I have a weird scratch from where I drew the knife along my bare skin.

I’d spent most of the day feeling terrible. And the question of what to do with my life hung above me all day, like a very big, very heavy, rain soaked dark grey cloud.

I spent the day off sick watching movies and feeling uncomfortable though I was lying on the sofa. Then, my mother said something along the lines of “You’re lucky your brother doesn’t ask you to pay your way” and then I got angry.

I reminded her that I have just got back into work after a year studying. This came hours after she told me it’s okay to resign if I’m suffering THIS much.

So last night, I rocked back on forth on my bed, and repeated all of the nasty things the people who were meant to be close to me over the years said.

Anyway, I went to sleep, had a dream about my ex, and woke up this morning feeling equally as rubbish. And then I checked my email, and suddenly decided to go back to work.

I rang to tell them I should be in tomorrow and then I rang my bank to sort out a spiraling debt.

This anxiety is ripping me apart. Depression is it’s best friend, and eggs it on.

But, I’m a stubborn person, and I won’t let myself give up. Because I know that, that dark bottomless pit of self loathing and no hope is waiting for me. And once I’m in it, it will be very hard to come out. And I see a rope, or a bridge in my future if I take that path.

So I take the harder path. I do the brave thing and I get up in the morning, do my job, and come home only to watch the clock counting down the hours to the next day. But doing nothing at home would be equally as excruciating.

This is currently my resolve. This is the inner strength that comes out from time to time to tell me to pull my socks up. Nobody does it but me. And on weekends when I have some time off, I spend the day time watching. Desperate not to force myself to face my overwhelming feelings that will kill me one day.

And they WILL…kill me one day.

But for now my battle with anxiety continues.



I’d rather have cancer than suffer from anxiety…what a terrible but brutally honest thing to say

At least with cancer, there is an end result. Survive. Or die. With anxiety, there is no relief.

I called someone at work (my job), (after some moments gearing myself up to call) and told them I won’t be in today as I am not feeling very well.

I’ve been suffering from abdominal pains, and it’s probably because of my anxiety.

Guess what I’ve been doing the last three weeks? Since my last blog about leaving work?

I tried to ‘get my shit together’ and go back to work. I can only tell you that right now I am a former shell of myself.

I am exhausted. My head feels full to bursting. My anxiety is overwhelming.

And I’ve been thinking about hanging myself in all honesty.

I made a decision to leave work. And then I berated myself and I didn’t.

And I’ve spent all weekend, absolutely tortured. Going from tears to anger. And cancelling plans to go out for dessert and a movie at the cinema, because my depression told me I’m a worthless piece of shit, and my anxiety confirmed it. All because work is part of my life, and life and everything in it is overwhelming right now.

I was never one to admit I suffered from these things. Depression. Anxiety. But the truth is I do. And I don’t take medication for it, or receive counselling or therapy. (That’s because I believe these things don’t help, and the stigma attached to them will destroy your life better than mental health can – but that’s another blog).

And it’s so hard, when your mental health starts to affect your physical health.

I have pushed myself all of the time, and I don’t even know if I am going to follow through and leave my job and take time off like I said I would. A few years ago, I was going to take a sabbatical. I didn’t. Now I am a graduate in Masters level degree. No time off. Then I went straight into a stressful job. No time off.

All i know is today I had to call in sick. Because my mind just wont shut off.

I couldn’t sleep properly. I keep waking up. And when I managed to get to sleep last night I had a dream I lost most of my hair. I could see part my bald head. Then I had a dream I was stuck on top of a very large cliff. And I had to find a way to get down.

These dreams tell me I’m not happy. Well, of course I’m not. But I tried you know? I tried to be normal and go out and work and do all the things people do.

When I’ve tried to talk to people close to me, they tell me; just push past it. Or, don’t be a quitter… It makes me so angry that even to this day people don’t understand this isn’t about being lazy, or stressed out, or tired. It’s about a debilitating illness. Like cancer, except it’s invisible. I don’t know, sometimes I think cancer would be easier to handle. How sad is this thought?

I might go back to work tomorrow. I might not. Sitting at home doesn’t help either.

I’m stuck in a vicious cycle. Hell, I think it’s called. I’m in hell.