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I'm no longer depressed! However, I wanna kill myself again and it's worse than ever before.

My stupid parents convinced me to get a degree instead of the job, based on the premise that of course the world hasn't changed since they were young just because why would it? It's not basically a different era, why would it be?

So I went to the university like a good girl, full time too because again, parents, you wouldn't learn anything just studying on the weekends! And you don't need a job, we wil gladly pay for your education. Surprise, they couldn't manage that! What, one person cannot afford two households like in the 90's? Huuuuuuh?

And so I had to take a year off, move back home. And having to change universities which meant having to do stuff over and going to extra classes. Extra internship just because! Yay! I also love commuting 5 hours a day just to get to classes, best experience of the lifetime.

Oh and after a year my mum threw me out for refusing to clean up messes I contributed to making in no way. Womp womp. Get moved 300 kilometers for the third time in three years, bitch.

So now I study part time, and of course I had to repeat a year. Who didn't know that 2 years of studying full time equals one year of studying part time. Not even, because I still got *extra classes* and of course the *extra internship*. Of course the internship is not payed. I mean I don't get payed, but I have to pay the hospital to do the worst stuff, relieving people that actually get payed kinda well for doing their job, while listening about how lazy students are. And of course I spend all of my "free" time at work just to have a place to sleep, because let's not kid ourselves, I'm home 9 hours a day at an absolute best.

So I get to wake up at 6, go to the hospital by 7, clean up arses for 6 hours, then go straight to work, hopefully leave by 21.40 to get home on the last bus. But that doesn't happen because people would have to actually leave on time soooo I get to take a bike. Yay again! That's fitness!

Except it isn't. I started feeling bad a couple months ago but I still don't know what's wrong. I lost 10 kg which I didn't have to lose (reached my goal weight from ana days so goal accomplished I guess) aside from less fun symptoms that I will spare you. The core of the problem is that I have no strength and feel faint all the time. I'm in the hospital almost every day of the week, yet I couldn't for the life of me get diagnosed. I even tried spending my life savings to get better care and all that's given me is being sure that if I lose my job I'm a month away from being homeless.

So I can't take time off of work, because I will be fired ---> homeless. I cannot skip anymore classes (those are taking up all my weekends, I forgot to mention) or I will have to do the second year of uni for the THIRD FREAKING TIME. I cannot. I physically and mentally wouldn't survive that. And I cannot skip internship because I would have to pay for it anyway and get to do it all over again next year. I cannot just quit uni because I will forever be stuck doing shitty jobs for the minimal salary that they can pay me without facing criminal charges, just to live. I cannot do that, I don't have that in me.

So I'm stuck in an endless loop of just pure exhaustion and misery. I do not see a way out and I don't see myself surviving this for another year. I would really prefer to get this over with.

If somebody reads this, don't worry. I'm still more likely to work myself to death than kill myself. I promised I wouldn't try again and I would have to completely break to attempt it and for some unfathomable reason I'm not there yet.

And who's to blame for this situation? Is it my parents, because they are poor? Is it me, because I believed their delusions? Could it possibly be the fucking trickle up economics that we experience globally? Noooo, I just don't wake up early enough.

anxietyproblem

memewhore

offscreen-gloomverse-probably

Harold: People often ask me if I can fall in love.

Harold: bitch, I can’t even fall asleep.

I decided to read a book that I liked very much when I was young. It's one of the few I've ridden in like 5 years, and for sure the first one that wasn't written after 2010s.

I don't care much for vocabulary, I like the fact that the language evolves and changes with time. I think it kind of reflects the way people think in a given period of time.

But the way the author describes people... I mean I know it's very hard to write a really good description. The plot, action, sure - but an ability to fill the blanks in how the reader perceives the surroundings, the mood, the characters - that's what makes a great writer.

And I've noticed a few things. In, let's say, modern books, a description of a character is given right after they appear in the plot. But in older books, or this one at least, the character is introduced, then some time passes, we get to see their actions and judge them, we get to know their character. And then comes the description, which kind of describes not only the appearance but also, I guess, the persons aura. The way that their life, their choices and their past reflects how they look.

I don't know why, but I really appreciated that way of description. It just didn't feel forced, kind of like in written assignments in grade school. 'This is Tom. He is 12 years old. He has black hair and blue eyes. He is tall.'

Anyway, go back to the books you liked when you were young. This time, I understand much more, though, I think, still not all of it.

We, children from Banhof Zoo, you - The Six Bullerby Children

I'm so sick of people telling that sexual harasment statistics are blown out of proportion, that the victims are overreacting. I've been molested more times that I can count and I dont't know any girl that hasn't been.

When I was 15 my camp tutor put his hands in my underwear and didn't let me go.

When I was 17 coming back at 7 am the day after new years eve a 30 year old man tried to touch me and kiss me in public transport, then followed me home. I was lucky my mum was home. No witnesses done anything.

Same year I was coming back from card tournament. On the bus stop a man and his son were checking me out, touching me inapropriately, and then the father told me that "I'm a good wife material for his son" and that I need to come with them to see if I'm as good in bed as I look. There were three people on the bus stop, nobody did anything. I managed to escape.

When I was 18 I was so happy to go to my first job. All the workers lived in one building, in one big room. The first week I barely slept, because anytime I closed my eyes, one of the men would find their way in my bed. On the 4th day I was raped. One of them forced themselves onto me because I didn't close the bathroom when I went in the night. I was to scared to scream, I just tried to free myself and saying "no" over and over again. I slept on the bench outside that night. When I came back next day, I found out that I was a slut.

The same year, everytime I was at work men I worked with proposed me sex, blowjobs and such. Every day. For a month. Even when there were other people present. They didn't care.

A few days ago an old lady saw me smoking outside my apartment. "How old are you?" she asked, and I replied "19". "And you're already smoking? That's very bad of you".

What she doesn't know is that I have trouble with coping. I have to take pills to sleep, otherwise I'm to scared to close my eyes. I have to take pills that numb me so I can control the urge to kill myself. If anybody tells me again that victims of sexual harassment are overreacting, I will fucking lose it.

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