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An honestly sanguine account

A petty jealousy

A friend of mine recently discussed with me how common depression is and how he feels it affects many of our mutual friends and acquaintences. He takes the matter of depression very seriously indeed and I appreciate that, although I have not revealed to him my own experiences.

I am disgusted with myself somewhat to find i was annoyed following this conversation.

I don't self harm anymore but I find that my scars are an integral part of how I identify myself. I've said before that a part of me takes a sort of pleasure or satisfaction from my own suffering - that my troubles helped make me unique. My journey with depression has been very personal to me and I find it frustrating to share ownership of that with others, especially when many of those people I have been jealous of in many other respects - socially, physically, materialistically etc. I have a petty jealousy or territorial anxiety over the realm of depression, as if having many others in my social circle suffering from depression devalues my own journey.

Lost touch (trigger warning)

It's been nearly two years since I last picked up a blade. It's been just over a year ago since I  threw my stash of the things away when I moved in with my girlfriend. In most of that time, I am happy to say that I have barely felt the loss.

I've gone through several deaths which I feel like I have coped with pretty well. I never felt the encroachment of depression, though I was very rocked with grief.

For a few weeks, though, I have felt a mounting, familar feeling. I struggled to pinpoint the reason until the past week or so. I have the honour of being the best man to one of my oldest friends. As part of my duty, I am responsible for organising the stag do.

My interaction skills aren't great at the best of times but I have tried to organise things in a way I think the groom will appreciate and will provide a great time for everyone involved - about a dozen friends of ours plus his brothers and father. Some of those friends have proved extremenly slippery and awkward, forcing me to rearrange the entire event from scratch twice. I have come to realise, also, as I try to communicate with them, that I those friends don't actually seem to like me or have no trust in the weekend that I have planned.

These are people I have known for between 15 and 25 years and to realise that they dislike me now is whipping the rug from under my feet. I realise now that several of them have been directly or indirectly isolating me, keeping their distance and not interacting with me unless forced to. One of whom I thought was my greatest friend! I feel disgusting

Today more than ever I miss the scalpel blades. I scratched my wrist with a bent paper clip a little but it's not the same. I am on the verge of tears and I can not concentrate on work at all. This has been building up for weeks - unexplained bouts of depression and anger. I have wanted to hurl my phone across the room several times; the only thing stopping me being my obligation to my friend to produce his stag do. My deepest wish is to give up and leave them all to rot, cut myself off from the whole lot of them and never see them again.

It's my fault really, I am so poor at keeping in touch, they're bound to think that I am the one abandoning them. Maybe I deserve it.

It's ridiculous, it's such a small thing. I've gone through a lot of stress in the past couple of years and come out unscathed and in the end it's a organising a stag do that gets to me? Just the fact that it's such a pathetic thing makes me feel like a fraud. It's barely a problem at all. And yet I want to scream and cry and smash and cut and hide from everyone


I hate myself. I hate my stupid face and my god awful mouth. I hate my stupid expressions and awkward clumsiness. I hate my constant failures and my perpetual cowardice. I hate my laziness. I hate that I started cuting. I hate that I don't cut deep enough. I hate my scars. I hate that I want to keep them. I hate that I have wasted my life. I hate that I am unlovable. I hate my voice. I hate that I'm lonely. I hate always getting it wrong. I hate being unable to express myself properly. I hate that I still feel like a kid. I hate that I am old. I hate the things I have done. I hate my hairy legs. I hate my dependance on others. I hate my need for attention. I hate that I never get it. I hate my forgetfulness. I hate my self pitying. I hate myself. I hate me. I hate me. I hate you. I hate you. You are nothing! I hate you. You are stupid and worthless. I hate you.

Some thoughts


It's been a little while since my last post - I suppose that's a good thing! Sadly it doesn't feel that way. Really I've been living in a fantasy world escaping from real life for reasons I still don't understand. I so easily get caught up in works of fiction and read or watch them obsessively until I burn out. Those fictional worlds take on more substance than my own empty life. More disturbingly for me, I am unable to express my own emotions really but with these worlds I experience a massive range of emotions that I am unable to connect with myself. I have lost people close to me - friends and family - but those deaths have failed to stir much in the way of emotion. Even when I do feel sad or depressed or as if I do want to cry I cannot do anything. There are no tears, there is no anger, there is just impotent frustration! But I watch these programmes and read these books and I cry like a new born baby and I feel hugely relieved and exhilerated. Then it ends I am left feeling empty again.

The exception was the three years I was with her. I was probably more connected to my emotions than at any other point in my life. For the most part I was able to experience grief and joy and anger during that time. Now she is gone I wonder if I am not more disconnected than I was before.

Anyway, I've been made redundant at work. I have a couple of weeks left now and then I am stuck without a job. Surprisingly this has not been a source of depression for me - if anything I feel a little liberated and the change is exhilerating. The financial implications are a bit overwhelming on the otherhand and causing me some inability to sleep when I dwell on them. I don't know what I am going to do.

I want to take the opportunity to study art. I want to be an artist but I am incredibly anxious that I am not good enough. I really don't have much experience - I don't think I am very good and I only started relatively recently whereas I know most artists have been at it all their lives. I don't have any skills or real experience. I've been drifiting through life for 10 years working in dead end jobs with no idea of what I want to do with my life or where I want to end up. I have never been good at anything so what makes me think I can be an artist?   But if I don't do this then what am I? But what happens when I fail?

A week's worth of ramblings

Here's a log of some of my thoughts over the past week or so. There may be some things that cause triggering so please read with caution. Thanks


I have no plan, no aim and I have no idea how to do anything with my life. What would I achieve? How would I do it? I am nothing, a non-entity. No matter what I try to do, there will always be someone better, someone pushing me aside. I will never be known by anyone for anything. What is the point in even trying? Anything I dedicate years to will just mean that when I fail I will have even less options.

I’ve got to face the fact that I have nothing to give the world. I am truly worthless.

How am I supposed to measure my selfworth anyway?

By the people that love me? No one

By the respect I have earned? None

By the things I have done? Nothing

By the skills I have learnt? Not one

By the job I hold? Pathetic and I suck at it!

By the money I earn? Laughable

By my personality? Non existent

Do I have anything worth living for? Half my life already gone and what have I done with it? Sweet F A. Better than that! I have left it far too late to do anything with it. I am now destined to amount to nothing. I am a boring, talentless, lazy, pointless waste of space. The world wouldn’t weep for my passing and nor should it. I cannot even starve myself properly, much as I like the feeling and the headaches, I am too weak and give in to hunger too readily. I cannot even control that. No wonder I failed 3 peaks and pretty much everything I have ever set myself to. I am pathetic. Even now I am thinking about lunch and I only ate last night! It’s getting harder to go without food the more I want to. Or do I? I can’t even tell if what I’m thinking are genuine thoughts or conjured up to convince myself of something. I am not in control of anything at all and I do not have the ability or drive to take control.


There is a daily exorcism that must be performed now, to expel her from my thoughts. The process involves a lot of dwelling on the past. Facing what has been and coming to terms with it on a daily basis once again experiencing a ghost of the pain and loss. Doing so invariably leaves me wanting to cry my fill but of course I can’t because I am presumably an emotional cripple. In truth I do not know whether this actually helps or hinders. I don’t know whether I want it to help or hinder. I think I am definitely scared of forgetting her and us and everything we went through. I do not want to ever let it go entirely. I want it to hurt when I think about it. So perhaps my daily ritual is more a resurrection than an exorcism. For Emma, Forever Ago.

Is it better to forget and suffer the guilt? Or to remember constantly?


A bath last night, warm and cosy with Shine on You Crazy Diamond i-ix playing in the background was for me the most perfect moment I have experienced in the past few months. I felt like I could have quite happily stopped living right then. Would anyone outside my immediate family have noticed? Would anyone really care if I wasn’t there any more? Would it impact anyone’s life in the slightest? I suspect not. I doubt anyone would miss me at all. Oh well.

I will very likely never be loved by anyone again. I had that chance and I threw it away. I will never have a family of my own – I had that chance too and to my eternal shame threw that away. Without any possibility of love and family, my future seems somewhat pointless. Whether I succeed financially or in a career is rendered meaningless. Whether I die today or in ten years is completely irrelevant to anything.

It doesn’t matter what I do with my life. If I do anything.


I deserve to be fat and ugly and fail at everything. I do not deserve to be loved by anyone. It is not just the awful things I have done in the past. Not just that I hurt people I cared about. It is who I am. I am such a non entity. There is not a single redeeming feature about me.

I could use a bloody drink.


I feel guilty for every pathetic self pitying thought I have. I feel like I deserve to be fat and yet even though I eat horrendously I still have the actual good fortune to remain slim. Whilst one of my best friends is depressed and putting on weight when all he really wants is to shed a few stone so that women won’t judge him based on his size. I feel guilty for being depressed when I have nothing to be depressed about. I know people who have been through hell. Who have experienced a lifetime’s worth of disappointment or abuse or numerous other things. Who the hell do I think I am? And even this is a stupid self pitying thought that I don’t deserve to have. My having these thoughts belittles what others go through.


Today the sun is shining and I am a lot more at peace with the idea of spending the rest of my life alone. I would rather not, of course, but the inevitability does not upset me like it did yesterday.

I am concerned. I am putting more effort into appearing “ok” at work. Making jokes and smiling and so on. I am not sure whether I am pretending to be happy or if I am pretending to be miserable. I sort of feel a bit like both. I feel like I am going literally crazy and that can’t be right. How am I able to feel hopeless and depressed but also happy? Granted I only really feel happy when I am laughing. But with the sun on my face and the unchangeable course of destiny I am at times, content.


This morning my breakfast consisted of a triple amaretto and coca cola before heading off to work. The minute little buzz has lifted my spirits a bit more at work so far… I think I am more convincing in my good moodness so that is cool. It has worn of now though.

I looked up Emma on Facebook. I know I shouldn't do that. All I can see is her current profile picture which is more than likely for the best. She looked happy which pleases me. And Pretty. I was concerned before – last I saw of her she was looking far too thin and I know she can do that. I hope she is happy.


I dream of a house in a foreign place, with a glass front to look out upon a tropical bay from atop my lonely hill beyond which the land spreads in a vast vista, encompassing some hub of local populace, a vital connection to the rest of the world. In bright blue skies, an ocean full of rich colours and fresh smells blanketing me, tranquility. When the skies are grey, the wind gusts and huffs and the rain lashes down this is not the miserable nothingness that imprisons us in our cities and our comfortable, lethargic techno-age. Here, those clouds are the hands of God, a force of nature tha sculpts the world. It is the relentless march of new life and it is magnificent to behold, liberating to experiencing and above all, it is anything but depressing. 


More and more, I have to force myself to walk into the office every morning. My first inclination is to go straight to the bathroom, lock the door and stay there. I was closer to doing it this morning than before and I honestly don’t think it would take much to make me actually do it.

I had dinner last night and I am regretting it. I wish I had been strong enough to resist the temptation. Just a little more determination and I could have gone to bed and not eaten until at least this morning, possibly lunch or dinner time today. As it is, I ate this morning as well… because I might as well – I already failed again.

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