So today was one of those days where I’m uncharacteristically emotional. I hate that, because I’ve always had the mentality that crying is a sign of weakness, that emotions in general are a sign of weakness. Only in myself, though, because when other people show how they feel I think it’s pretty cool – they’re proving themselves to be alive and human and real. When it’s me, however, I hate it. As does everyone, I think.

I have exams next week, that I’m oh-so ridiculously stressed about, that don’t even really count for anything and result in grades that won’t ever make it to any official records. Because of that worry, however, I haven’t been sleeping properly and I’ve pretty much stopped eating. It’s been like this for about four days, and I feel so awful. I don’t want to go back to how I used to be, and yet all these food-related thoughts powered by extreme sleep deprivation have infiltrated my mind, or at least become more noticeable than usual.

All of that anxiety has then made it horribly easy for other unwelcome, supressed thoughts to make themselves known (again): your boyfriend doesn’t really like you; your boyfriend’s friends hate you; your boyfriend doesn’t love you (and here come all the reasons why); your friends are only there because they pity you; your grades are slipping and your school will reassess your scholarship and kick you out… I could go on but I think at this point the list would go on for far too many pages.

I should note that I know that a few of these things aren’t actually true, but on days like this the rational side of my mind manages to disappear for a few hours and leave me alone with the other side, the one that mocks and taunts and points out everything that is, and could possinly be, wrong.

I think I mentioned in a previous post that on days like this I hurt the people closest to me, and it’s true; my lovely boyfriend who I like and love and care about so much, who is also the kindest, most thoughtful, funniest and most cleverly intelligent person I’ve ever met, saw me on the stairs at the end of the day, a few very short minutes after I’d ended up crying into my friend’s shoulder in the toilets, gave me a hug and goodbye kiss and I was so close to crying again so I turned away and hot-footed it down the stairs. He laughed from behind me, at what I have no idea, but I’m so terrified that I hurt him and that was a laugh of incredulity at my awfulness. He’s honestly so amazing, and I know that if I keep doing this he’s going to leave. I’m so scared about that.

Hastily pushing that painful topic aside, I was also supposed to have dinner at a close family friend’s house this evening. I went round after school and told both them and my mum that I’d had a horrible day so couldn’t stay to eat as I needed to get to my room and calm down. I should mention that a few tears made their hated appearance around about then because, as well as the nastiness of my day, I knew that I was being rude. Something my mum’s just come home and told me in greatly exagerated detail, having left a few hours after me.

The reason I take issue with my mother sometimes is something I should probably mention and explain here; whenever I’m having a day like this, and even when I’m not, one of her seemingly favourite things to do is mimic me, putting on a ridiculous voice and flapping her arms about while twisting the things I say and intentionally making me feel guilty. She’s even admitted to the fact that emotional blackmail is something she knowingly uses on me, which is horrible because she knows exactly how bad that makes me feel.

Anyway, I’m well aware that this post has become something akin to the content found on an angsty teenager’s blog, so I should end it before it gets worse.

I’ll finish by saying that I hope no one else feels like this, but as it’s inevitable that one or a few of you do please feel more than free to leave an emoji in the comments and I’ll find a way to contact you and try and help.


Just One Of Those Days

I’m having one of those depression days again and I feel awful.

I think it was triggered by a mixture of things, the most notable of which being that I am so goddamn paranoid… I hate it.

I worry that the slightest thing will make my boyfriend realise that I’m way less than what he deserves or could have. I worry that he doesn’t actually like me. I worry that we’re low-key because it’s not a serious thing. I mean, we talked about it and we are together but just not shouting about it, which is completely fine and yet I’m still worried… Part of that conversation was an agreement, initially brought up by him, that we can do whatever but no falling in love (which I don’t feel like talking about). This agreement was fine at the time, but over the last few weeks I’ve started wondering if that’s just what he wants because we aren’t actually serious. It’s horrible.

The thing is, I know that I don’t doubt him even if it seems like it; I doubt me because I know I’m not good enough for him.

Obviously, there’s also the whole panic about grades which I could probably eradicate by some revision, but over this past three week holiday I’ve done none. Sure, I’ve sat down with my books and all that but none of it’s stuck – I have a brain like a sieve, as I’ve probably said before.

Linked to that is the stress of university; I don’t have to apply til later this year unless I go for Oxbridge, which I don’t think I want to do. It’s just the whole future thing, I think, and the distance bit and the fact that I’ll be leaving behind everything I know. Bit scary, really.

On top of all that I’ve got strange little problems at home, and I’m just as paranoid about my friends as I am about my boyfriend, again because I can’t see why I’d be even slightly interesting to them.

All of this has come crashing down today and landed me with an awful migraine, one that came with all the symptoms of flu; in short, my depression has taken today as its day to remind me that it’s still there, as loud as ever.

I wish I could get rid of it, because I know that it’s the reason for my paranoia and anxiety and everything else, or at least I know that the three go hand in hand. I hate the fact that everyday I have to fight my own head, with my head, and that every time I wake up on and after days like today the phrase ‘won the battle, lost the war’ seems oh-so relevant.

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. It’s like this muffler stretching over my nose and mouth and a weight on my chest that makes breathing really hard, as well as this ache in the back of my head and a mixture of guilt, anxiety, paranoia and so much else biting at something deep inside my chest. Ohmygod I hate it.

So now what…

Once upon a time…

I had a Plan. It was simple, something I really wanted and so pretty much had my heart set on.

Then I did my GCSEs and for some reason got it into my head that I didn’t need to study because I’d ‘got this’.

Needless to say, I hadn’t ‘got this’ at all – far from it. I collected my final grades on results day and was bummed to see just how wrongly ‘got this’ described my situation. I hadn’t done badly really, but I knew that I could’ve done better… Hell, I could’ve aced those exams if I’d studied and I knew it.

However, I just managed to keep my place at the sixth form I really wanted to go to and so I was off, with visions of this Plan clearly pinned in front of me and my regrets over my grades shoved at the back of my mind to be confronted at a later date, preferably when my Plan had materialised and I could laugh over them.

This method of hiding from the sad truth rather than facing it and deciding where to go from there meant that it was only at 2am, when I was lying awake contemplating existence, that I’d allow myself to even begin to consider a Plan B… On some level I think I’d still managed to fool myself into thinking that everything would work out fine and that I’d still ‘got this’ and my Plan would still go, well, as planned.

Of course, this couldn’t possibly be the case so I began to very tremulously think about what else I could do if these grades proved to be the be all and, most likely, end all of my Plan.I let myself begin to dwell on other ideas and, before I knew it, my Plan had effectively gone out the window and been replaced by a horrible feeling of complete self-doubt. Even so, I refused to acknowledge that I was falling and so kept on going, spinning into a plan-less void of anxiety over a future that could still be on track if I hadn’t been so bigheaded back last summer.

However, today I had a meeting with my housemaster at school. It was a little soul-destroying and I came out feeling like I’d been hit by a few trucks and run over by a bus. I’d been told that the grades I’d achieved at GCSE really would influence my future, and not in a positive way in regards to my Plan, the thing that I suddenly felt slipping through my sudden, frantic grip. But, after a bout of teary panic, I decided that I could turn this around.

Yes, I wish my plan could still be a Plan.

Yes, I wish I’d studied and thought everything through properly.

Yes, I wish I’d thought of a Plan B earlier on and avoided all of this.

But I didn’t.

And that’s ok, because instead I got the kick in the teeth I needed to make me go home and consider six questions I should have thought about a long time ago:

  1. What do I really love in life?
  2. So far, what’ve I done that I’m proud of?
  3. If I didn’t care at all what anyone thought, what would I do?
  4. If my life was completely limitless and I could have and do whatever I wanted, what would I have and what would I do?
  5. If I had a billion pounds, what would I do?
  6. Who do I admire most in life and why?

Perhaps they seem silly, but they helped me.

I don’t have a Plan anymore, but I have plans.

I don’t know where I’m going from here, but I promise it won’t be boring.