Those Nights...

Just a place for me to anonymously write down my thoughts and scream into the void. Depression, anxiety, self-harm, suicide, and addiction trigger warnings. Reblogs on a queue. I'm in my 20s.

[those-nights]

Another relapse... after making it over a month once again...

This will never end. I need to just kill myself already.

[those-nights]

I've relapsed again. For 4 days in a row, actually. After making it over a month. I really thought I was done with it this time. It felt different. But I guess I was just being naïve like always.

I cut myself for the first time a night ago too. It was harder than I expected. I tried multiple times and I had to push down decently hard, but even still didn't draw much blood. But I was using a probably-dull pocket knife. I tried with a small kitchen knife but that didn't work well either, and I didn't want to try with anything serrated. I was very nervous while doing it though. Afterwards, even though there wasn't much blood, I tried putting a bandaid on it but my hair kept it from staying on (I was cutting my thigh). So I'll need to shave that part if I want to make a deeper cut in the future. The next day I actually felt better for a while, and I started to hope that cutting had helped and would help me deal with my addiction. But clearly not. Here I am again, already relapsing. And the only reason I'm even still alive to write this is because I'm too socially anxious to go buy a gun.

[gentlesleaze]

“I over-analyze situations because I’m scared of what will happen if I’m not prepared for it.”

—

Turcois Ominek

(via quotemadness)

[those-nights]

One day, I'd like to be able to go to sleep without fearing tomorrow.

[those-nights]

People always say that it will get better, which is bullshit, because they simply don’t know that. But even if it were true, even if you could see the future and told me that 10 years from now I’ll be happy, I still don’t think it would be worth it. If I have to feel like this for the better part of 10 years before I feel okay again, then I think I’d rather just kill myself now.

[those-nights]

I still don’t know if I want to go on HRT or not. I’m worried I’ll feel like a freak. Or that other people will see me as a freak. With how bad my social anxiety is it’s basically the same thing; if other people see me as a freak, then I will too. I think my biggest concern is that my body would change but not my voice. And I could always try to change my voice too, but… I don’t really want to do that. I’m nonbinary, not a transwoman, but I feel like I have to pick a binary and go all one way or the other, or at least be presentable as one or the other, if that makes sense. I just wish I could shapeshift whenever I want. Or if not that, then let me have a completely androgynous body. But unfortunately that’s not an option… and I just don’t see how I will end up happy with any of the non-fantasy outcomes. I also feel bad even thinking this way because I realize I must have internalized transphobia if I’m worried about HRT making me a freak. I mean of course I do, I grew up in an incredibly transphobic society, and there’s no escape from it. I just so fucking badly want to live in a world where gender doesn’t even exist, and I can be myself completely without worrying about what people will think of me.

[those-nights]

My social anxiety is suffocating me. I was wanting to see a dermatologist, but I was deciding between in-person and a video call. The thought of either one was so distressing, and with all the other ways I’ve been getting worse recently, I just wanted to kill myself and avoid all of it. But then I asked my mom and she told me that online meant sending in pictures, not having a video call, and that immediately made me feel so much better. I feel so pathetic having my suicidal thoughts swing so heavily based on something as simple as going to the doctor, and I’m just getting worse. With my brother’s wedding coming up next month, I have no idea how the fuck I’m suppose to make it through this.

[those-nights]

Wednesday night / early Thursday morning was the most I’ve ever wanted to kill myself. I relapsed again after making it a week. I was in so much pain afterwards. I just fucked up my body even more. I’m only getting worse, and with my brother’s wedding coming up next month, my anxiety hasn’t even begun to reach its peak. It would be better if I just killed myself now rather than end up doing it a week before their wedding.

[those-nights]

Sometimes I just want to burst out to my parents that I’m nonbinary to get it over with already, so that I can hopefully see a gender therapist sometime in the near future. But then I remember that they probably wouldn’t even know what that means, which would be kind of funny actually. I could just spontaneously yell that I’m nonbinary one day and they wouldn’t even know what I’m talking about and assume that I’m just being my usual weird self.

[those-nights]

Sometimes I have moments of epiphany and clarity when I think about my gender, and identity, and being myself in general without worrying about what other people think. My mind realizes that we’re all just tiny blobs on a tiny spec of rock flying through space. None of it matters. We’re all insignificant. Some people find that depressing and nihilistic, but I find it liberating. The universe doesn’t care about our human concept of gender, it doesn’t care about what I choose to do with my body, it doesn’t care about how I choose to live my life. Some people here on Earth might care, but who are they in the vastness of the universe? Nothing. And maybe if my brain would let me think like this all the time, things would be a lot easier.

[those-nights]

It’s times like these when I actually feel somewhat excited to live. When this “don’t give a fuck” attitude comes over me. But it never lasts. It’s never really there at all to be honest. It’s there in my head, in fake scenarios, but never in practice. I still have to somehow make my way in this capitalist system filled with hateful people after all. And “not giving a fuck” becomes is a bit harder with that being the case. Because yeah I might be excited to live life, but I’m sure as fuck not excited to get a job and have my labor exploited to make some billionaire even richer, all while dealing with bigots because I’m trans. Call me lazy if you want. I don’t care. My motivation simply drops straight to zero at the thought.

[those-nights]

Online I’m able to present a pretty shell. But no one’s going to want me once they find out what’s really inside.

[those-nights]

Anyone else feel really bad when someone tries to comfort you? Like here they are being positive and trying to cheer me up and I’m just so negative.

[those-nights]

Wearing a mask helps with my social anxiety, so it would be great if I could keep wearing one, but if I’m the only person wearing one then I’m gonna stand out and that would not be good for my social anxiety :/

[those-nights]

I simultaneously want to kill myself, and live forever

[those-nights]

I haven’t been okay since I was like... 11?

I’m sure that sounds like an exaggeration but the first time I threw up due to social anxiety was when I was 12, and it’s only been downhill from there.

[those-nights]

Sooo this week on “how much is it possible to overthink”. When I first started this blog, I was going to tag everything. Like, if posts were related to depression or social anxiety or addiction or whatever, I would tag them as such. (I don’t know why I just explained the concept of tagging, but I did.) But it felt... wrong, somehow? As if it would mean less if I tagged things. I would pour my heart out in a post and then immediately categorize that post? That felt weird. I could always add tags later, but then what if someone actually came along and read it? They wouldn’t know that I added the tags later. Would they think I was weird, or faking it? Because... it also felt like I was doing it for attention. The tags would increase someone finding the post, and is that the only thing I wanted, attention? Is that the whole reason I even have this blog instead of just writing down my thoughts in a journal or something? I don’t know. Of course, I have a slight obsession with categorizing things, which I’ve talked about before. On all of my blogs I have the urge to fit the right tags to the post. At least with this I know it’s not for attention, because I don’t just cram as many tags as I can, but only ones that actually make sense. But at the same time, the tags don’t actually ever serve a purpose? I don’t ever go back and look through a particular tag (unless it’s a personal one like “mine”), so I’m basically categorizing just to categorize. But on this blog I didn’t use tags because I overthought it so much, and now I’ve partially stopped using them on one of my other blogs too, because it feels like it takes away from the post. I consciously know that I’m overthinking this way too much. Tag or don’t, it doesn’t matter. But it’s like every single pointless decision I make, I have a war inside my head about how it’s going to be perceived and what people are going to think of me. Of course, now I just made a long post about overthinking whether or not to use tags, so... yeahhh.

[those-nights]

I like looking at myself in snapchat filters and seeing how pretty I could look. I wish I was actually that beautiful.