Most of the time, I feel unloved.
I have long since accepted that I am unlovable, that I am not worthy of someone else’s affection and time. I am not worthy of any effort. I am an extremely mediocre human being whose only salvation might be death (or taking lots of depression naps, which is basically the same thing).
The truth is, I’m screwed up twelve ways ’til Sunday.
I’m damaged goods. Everything I do, whether it’s unintentional or through self-fulfilling prophecy, I inevitably fuck up. I cry too much, and I always get anxious for no logical reason. I overthink constantly, sifting through the bits and pieces of my relationships to figure out what I’m doing wrong and when people will leave me. …
Recently, I read an article that discusses the differences between overly dependent and overly independent people who suffer from anxiety.
I am the most needy person I know. I take it personally when I feel like friends are drifting away, and even a minuscule thing like a slow response from my boyfriend to my messages bothers me. As an overly dependent anxiety sufferer, I am in need of constant validation and am hurt when I don’t hear what I want to hear. …
I write a lot about my depression. Whether it’s in my iOS journal app Day One, or here in my blog, I often write when I’m feeling down. My psychologist suggested it to me in our early sessions, and I’ve been doing it fairly consistently for a couple of years now. I’m happy to report that for the most part, it’s been a great tool to divert myself when I’m having a bad episode.