l5xington
Member
- Mar 16, 2026
- 11
I'm probably the most mentally ill I've ever been in my life right now. I haven't lived for a super long time so I know my distress probably isn't too bad compared to others, but comparison is the thief of joy, right? I kind of want to lay out my life story, just because talking to therapists or friends or family hasn't really cut it out for me. I hate the back and forth comforting, I know it's a natural thing people do in conversation, but it's like if I tell a friend I just broke my leg and they tell me they broke a leg too once, I don't really care that you broke your leg. My leg is currently broken, I'd like some reassurance. I don't know if that analogy makes sense but I've smoked enough weed that I've probably killed a sizable amount of braincells and nothing makes sense anymore.
I hate myself so much. I know everybody hates themselves to some extent and I find comfort in that in a weird way, that I know that someone probably hates themselves more than me somewhere out there. I have such a strong feeling of disgust when I make mistakes and cause problems and even just go about daily life having conversations or acting like myself normally. It hurts, somehow, and I find that really funny how the human body found a way to make an inner emotion cause physical pain. My chest feels like it has so much pressure in it, it causes a burning stinging feeling and it builds up all the way to my throat when I cry and whine about it. It happens when I have panic attacks too, like an instant headache the moment I find something unsavory about myself.
When I was younger, like 12-13, I started cutting myself. I kept it such a good secret, I already wore baggy oversized clothes with dark colors, and my mom was a nurse and brought stuff home from the hospital for arts and crafts, so there were always random sharp objects and gauze and bandaids around. I would sit in the shower and let the water run and turn burgundy with all of the blood that ran off, our shower drain was always somewhat clogged with hair so I would always just stand in my own blood. I don't remember a lot from my childhood, even though it was barely a decade ago, but the memories of when I first started cutting myself always flash behind my eyes when I start feeling bad about myself again. It's really weird how addiction works, I feel like that's probably a symptom of it. I finally got caught when I had my first mental break and cut myself on my face. When I first did it it was probably 1am and around 3 hours later reality kicked in and I realized I'd have to come clean to my mom 'cause there was no way I was hiding the giant gashes on my face.
I remember really enjoying my time in the mental hospital. I'm lucky for that, because I know other people have had horrible experiences. I think I enjoyed it because my mind is constantly so busy, and being inpatient dumbed everything down for me. My schedule and my activities were managed by other people, and I was visited by my parents a couple days in. It was nice. My dad gave me a stuffed animal that I still have, and I cry when I look at it sometimes because it just reminds me of a time when, while still mentally unwell, I was a lot happier. I was really good from then on. Sharp objects were hidden from me when I got home but I was in such a better mood, that didn't last long.
Into highschool I still had pretty bad anxiety and definitely abused my hydroxyzine, but I never had panic attacks and was introduced to smoking weed, which definitely mellowed me out. I did really well in school and earned honors and got a cool sash at graduation. I made a lot of friends.
In the summer after graduation I met my boyfriend and we really hit it off. I loved him then and I love him now. As I was sent off to college was when I think my life finally started to go downhill. I went back on medication and started cutting myself again. I started losing my connections with people I consider my closest friends. I ended up coming back to my hometown and continued to make mistakes. I came back to a house that wasn't mine anymore, and was homeless for a little bit. I found an apartment and can't afford it. I'm cutting myself really heavily now. I'm having SI much more than I ever did before, and I'm starting to get gray hairs from the amount of stress I'm under.
I wish my life could've gone better. I think about all the decisions I could've made, about all the paths I could've taken. I spend hours going over every mistake I've made and why I'll always choose the wrong choice when it comes to my big decisions in life. I know I'm severely mentally ill. I've been on every antidepressant under the sun, and now I've started my journey on antipsychotics.
I wish I could describe to my mom or my boyfriend or my friends about the constant guilt. I apologize a lot and I get scolded for it, because after a certain point I know my apologies just sound empty, but they're not. I genuinely am sorry for the things I do. I know I hurt people. I know I say really mean things and I know I play mind games. I remember growing up watching my parents argue, (that's another memory I for some reason held onto) and in the absence of all the happy memories I forgot from my childhood, it sticks out like a sore thumb. I think about the things they said to each other and I really told myself I would never do that to another person, and now here I am, doing it constantly. Lying. Pulling back. Making excuses. Manipulating. Guilt tripping. It feels like I do it on purpose afterwards. I think about how shitty I am and then that eventually leads to the cutting. I think that's what drove me to coming to this forum, to coming to terms with the fact that the world is better off without a person like me.
I don't know if the guilt is something I inherited from my mom's OCD, it's probably something genetic because I can rationally conclude that all of my life's problems are not my fault, but it really truly feels like that in my heart. I walk around with a constant weight and a constant fear of fucking up. I'm tired. I don't want to be afraid, mess up, and then feel guilt anymore. I'm very aware this is basically a diary entry I just wrote, and if you read to the end I appreciate you. I appreciate this community and everyone here seems so nice. I wish I was a little more active, but again, anxiety. It's currently 5am and I have work in the morning but I hope anyone reading has a good day, or a better one tomorrow if yours is already over.
I hate myself so much. I know everybody hates themselves to some extent and I find comfort in that in a weird way, that I know that someone probably hates themselves more than me somewhere out there. I have such a strong feeling of disgust when I make mistakes and cause problems and even just go about daily life having conversations or acting like myself normally. It hurts, somehow, and I find that really funny how the human body found a way to make an inner emotion cause physical pain. My chest feels like it has so much pressure in it, it causes a burning stinging feeling and it builds up all the way to my throat when I cry and whine about it. It happens when I have panic attacks too, like an instant headache the moment I find something unsavory about myself.
When I was younger, like 12-13, I started cutting myself. I kept it such a good secret, I already wore baggy oversized clothes with dark colors, and my mom was a nurse and brought stuff home from the hospital for arts and crafts, so there were always random sharp objects and gauze and bandaids around. I would sit in the shower and let the water run and turn burgundy with all of the blood that ran off, our shower drain was always somewhat clogged with hair so I would always just stand in my own blood. I don't remember a lot from my childhood, even though it was barely a decade ago, but the memories of when I first started cutting myself always flash behind my eyes when I start feeling bad about myself again. It's really weird how addiction works, I feel like that's probably a symptom of it. I finally got caught when I had my first mental break and cut myself on my face. When I first did it it was probably 1am and around 3 hours later reality kicked in and I realized I'd have to come clean to my mom 'cause there was no way I was hiding the giant gashes on my face.
I remember really enjoying my time in the mental hospital. I'm lucky for that, because I know other people have had horrible experiences. I think I enjoyed it because my mind is constantly so busy, and being inpatient dumbed everything down for me. My schedule and my activities were managed by other people, and I was visited by my parents a couple days in. It was nice. My dad gave me a stuffed animal that I still have, and I cry when I look at it sometimes because it just reminds me of a time when, while still mentally unwell, I was a lot happier. I was really good from then on. Sharp objects were hidden from me when I got home but I was in such a better mood, that didn't last long.
Into highschool I still had pretty bad anxiety and definitely abused my hydroxyzine, but I never had panic attacks and was introduced to smoking weed, which definitely mellowed me out. I did really well in school and earned honors and got a cool sash at graduation. I made a lot of friends.
In the summer after graduation I met my boyfriend and we really hit it off. I loved him then and I love him now. As I was sent off to college was when I think my life finally started to go downhill. I went back on medication and started cutting myself again. I started losing my connections with people I consider my closest friends. I ended up coming back to my hometown and continued to make mistakes. I came back to a house that wasn't mine anymore, and was homeless for a little bit. I found an apartment and can't afford it. I'm cutting myself really heavily now. I'm having SI much more than I ever did before, and I'm starting to get gray hairs from the amount of stress I'm under.
I wish my life could've gone better. I think about all the decisions I could've made, about all the paths I could've taken. I spend hours going over every mistake I've made and why I'll always choose the wrong choice when it comes to my big decisions in life. I know I'm severely mentally ill. I've been on every antidepressant under the sun, and now I've started my journey on antipsychotics.
I wish I could describe to my mom or my boyfriend or my friends about the constant guilt. I apologize a lot and I get scolded for it, because after a certain point I know my apologies just sound empty, but they're not. I genuinely am sorry for the things I do. I know I hurt people. I know I say really mean things and I know I play mind games. I remember growing up watching my parents argue, (that's another memory I for some reason held onto) and in the absence of all the happy memories I forgot from my childhood, it sticks out like a sore thumb. I think about the things they said to each other and I really told myself I would never do that to another person, and now here I am, doing it constantly. Lying. Pulling back. Making excuses. Manipulating. Guilt tripping. It feels like I do it on purpose afterwards. I think about how shitty I am and then that eventually leads to the cutting. I think that's what drove me to coming to this forum, to coming to terms with the fact that the world is better off without a person like me.
I don't know if the guilt is something I inherited from my mom's OCD, it's probably something genetic because I can rationally conclude that all of my life's problems are not my fault, but it really truly feels like that in my heart. I walk around with a constant weight and a constant fear of fucking up. I'm tired. I don't want to be afraid, mess up, and then feel guilt anymore. I'm very aware this is basically a diary entry I just wrote, and if you read to the end I appreciate you. I appreciate this community and everyone here seems so nice. I wish I was a little more active, but again, anxiety. It's currently 5am and I have work in the morning but I hope anyone reading has a good day, or a better one tomorrow if yours is already over.
