#I could really use a pint of ice cream and a cuddle rn

[facingdownleviathan-blog]

This one is kinda dark, guys.

My anxiety has been off the chain this week.

So I’ve got this thing--and I’ve got so many issues that it’s next to impossible to pinpoint just which one (or combination) caused this--where, when I am in the depths of depression and weighted by my own self-loathing, I begin feeling like my mind is a separate entity from my body. And my mind really hates my body.

I hate that I’m physically weak and my disability bars me from working out enough to gain muscle;

I hate that I get dizzy and out of breath a lot, and can’t walk or stand for more than an hour;

I hate how my hands shake all the time either from anxiety or hunger;

I hate the near-constant chronic pain in my joints and the painful way my elbows give out when I carry heavy things, or the way my knees give out sometimes when I’m running or walking up or down stairs;

I hate the fog that rolls into my brain and inhibits my ability to communicate or understand;

I hate how sensitive I am to pain and how everything from a stubbed toe to a shot makes me wish I’d pass out;

I hate how, when I get anxious, I get the worst B.O. even if I’m not sweating, and that makes me even more anxious;

I hate that I just can’t magically look how I wish I did, like a fucking shapeshifter;

I hate that even my mild revulsion from my body keeps me from enjoying sex and makes it such a challenge even to masturbate;

I hate that I’m always too fatigued to get dressed, or shower, or eat, or even have fun, and I still have to drag this body to work all week;

--and sometimes all I can think about is how badly I don’t want to be inside myself. My body feels like a prison, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from clawing my way out. When I self-harm, I do it punitively. I bite my hands or scrape my skin, and when I was at my worst I’d even punch the shit out of myself and now I have a permanent misalignment in my jaw that is invisible to the naked eye, but occasionally gives me tinnitus. It’s like a kick when you’re already down.

My mind isn’t much better though, honestly; between the anxiety and depression, and the enormous self-doubt that plagues me. Am I a good person? What is the point of living if I’m just going to be in pain all the time? What’s the point in taking good care of myself if no matter what, I won’t be able to do the physical activities I love anymore? Am I really trans or am I manufacturing my disgust with my body in my head? Is this actually dysphoria? Am I autistic or do I just think that because I can relate to a bunch of text posts about it on the internet? What if I’m nothing like what I thought? What am I? Does any of it matter? Do I even matter?

I think it’s definitely time for me to talk to my psych. In fact, I’d say I’m long overdue.