Within Emptiness

I've been on this fucking medicine that's destroying my hair, my liver, my stomach and my immune system for 3 months now. Today I am bleeding again. Seeing blood in the toilet fills me with this all hatred and shame towards myself and I don't know what to do. Is it my fault that I am feeling like this? probably not. Is it my responsibility to regulate my feelings and get back to life? yes but it  just  really  really  sucks  and  nobody  get  it I want to be able to eat a pomegranate and not bleed afterwards Ive stopped smoking and drinking, but what is the point if im still gonna feel like shit 95 percent of the time? If im not in pain im so tired i cant not fall asleep. if im awake im thinking of going back to sleep. and im just so fucking ashamed of existing like this my sister has a job, is getting interviews left and right and im just here i have no talent, no purpose, no plans. soon no place to live and no income Im a burden to my family and...

Every month i have like a 5-7 day period of pure agony. It is kind of inspiring that i survive it and continue to try to live better. Every month I genuinely feel like it would be so much easier for me to die. I started taking birth control pills but i had a bad reaction to it and I stopped. 24 euros down the drain and 20 more years of painful periods in my future. My flatmate's giving up the flat to live with his gf. My first reaction was to cry for an hour and since i didn't want him to see me cry I went to the Müller and cried while looking at craft supplies. I am happy that he's in love and taking the next step with his beautiful girlfriend. I just wish it didn't make me feel like garbage. I feel like i have no place in this society and there is no way for me to survive alone.  I even thought about moving back to Iran  Then israel started bombing tehran and Iranian men on twitter were disgusting about women wearing bikinis and i changed my mind. Better to be unloved...

For a short while, from about the six-month mark of moving in to the house number 17 I started feeling at home. I have officially moved out now, I thought I'd feel lost and lonely but I am okay. sad but okay. The good thing about the old flat was that I was safe, I never dreaded coming home. Never had to brace myself before turning the key in the door. I learned to not be scared of the sound of opening the door in that place. Even under stress, when we had to clean the whole flat in 48 hours we were not mean to each other, we didn't forget to say thank you and please, and to laugh when we were being silly. And we are in no way calm or non-anxious people. We just respect each other enough to make an effort. Before moving to the flat number 17, I didn't think I could be friends with german people, like the kind of friends who you share your deepest thoughts with, get drunk and roam around the city at midnight, the kind that knows you have a complicated relationship with your ...

 I fucking hate being ill, this illness is like a never ending cycle of slow death. I get inflamed, i have to take immunosuppressants, i get an infection And that makes me inflamed again.  Tonight I had to take a dose of hydrocortisone, again. For the 3rd time in the last 12 months. I have to do my Masterarbeit but I'm either in pain or procrastinating. At nights, trying to fall asleep i get a flashing image of slashing my wrists just to be done with it.  Worse than being sick ish all the time, the bleeding and the pain and the skin problems and the chronic tiredness, is the feeling I have. I constantly feel like i am not allowed to feel sick. I feel ashamed of being tired, i feel like i don't deserve to live if I am not doing something with my life. I hate my self for being weak and dependent. Every time my BF asks how I am my stomach gets tight, should I lie or should I tell that I feel like slowly fading, exactly like the 11 months ago when he knew me, or 5 month ago, ...

 There's something freeing about sleeping naked, I was never really able to do it even when I lived alone. I thought it was a great sin. My brain couldn't relax with the thought of being naked. Not that I was scared of being seen. That wasn't the only part. I was scared of my own naked form. The way my shoulders slouch, my stomach sticks out, the hairs and the scar on my butt. The shape of my pubic bone and the slightly darkened skin. My hip dips and my lack of a thigh gap. And it wasn't just fear of not being perfect. There was an innate shame enmeshed into possessing a body with a vulva and breasts and hair. When I hit puberty I started getting freaked out about my body. I thought I had the ugliest body there is. By 14 I had completely given up on ever finding love or having sex. And the worst part was I thought it was my fault. My bits look like this because I masturbate! That's probably why I'm still so uncomfortable with sex. But that's a story for anot...

A lot has happened since I last posted here. I moved out of the house with shitty housemates and moved into another place with shitty housemates. I got covid and the flu and my UC got so bad I had to take new drugs. And I probably had one of the worst depression episodes of my adulthood. I don't know if you can call it an episode if it lasted like 10 days. but man was I fighting for life. Covid, as you know, is pretty bad, as an immigrant who just moved to a new country and a new apartment it's worse. But I told people when I had covid and they brought me food and bought me groceries. Someone was a dick to me and told me I was gonna make everybody else sick by not being careful. *I was only using the fucking kitchen at midnight and I always wore masks. Always. So the next time I got the flu, I didn't tell people. I think I stayed in my room for a week. And I only ate untoasted bread with honey and bananas. And the flu was worse than covid, I had a high fever for 3 days and ...

With every passing day I realize that I might be able to do it after all. I never thought I could get over my ex and I did it. thinking about moving to another country pushed me to the edge of a nervous breakdown and I did that too. Now every minor detail of everything I need to do stresses me the fuck out. But I kind of think I’ll be able to do them too. Ill be able to find my place in this new weird country. I’ll fall in love again. I might even orgasm :))  And it’s kind of okay If I don’t do any of these things, I forgive myself for my possible future failures. 

I bought this postcard for you when you had covid and wrote: "get well soon" on the back. We were fighting -as usual- and I wanted us to be good again. I brought you food and medication but forgot to bring the card. Later, when your quarantine was ending, you were a massive dick to me -as usual- and we broke up, no sorry, I broke us up, and I never gave you the card. Now I have the card with me. It's a gorgeous painting. I thought it would remind you of me. It's a portrait of a green/blue-eyed woman with a scarf in a car. I kept it cause it was beautiful, and you didn't deserve it.  Now that I think about it, you would have hated it, with the English writing on the back. You were always mad that I didn't write beautiful stuff for you and that I used English words. I used to feel stupid to have endured your abuse for almost a year. Thankfully I stopped doing that. I have accepted that I'm human and I make mistakes. I've finally come to terms that we wer...

As I wait for my face cream to dry up so I can put my mask back on, I realize how lonely I feel. There is absolutely no one I want to talk to or who wants to talk to me. I haven't felt this lonely in ages. I have friends and loved ones. But I keep thinking that they're just sick of me, telling the same old jokes, getting sad over the same old things, being the same old me: boring, unoriginal, depressed and anxious. I haven't really understood how depressed I was until recently. It was the lexi episode in euphoria and as zendaya was talking about how she was looking at her life from above I felt that. And found out that it wasn't healthy? I used to make up stories in my head. I thought of myself in third person. I had this image of a life that wasn't mine but I kind of wanted to live it. It wasn't a happy story, I was always the passive, victimized damsel in distress kind of protagonist. And I don't think I made up happy endings or any kind of endings for it....

 I will probably never get over you and move on. like all the others. you will be a spot on my soul. It's not the way you couldn't understand me or have the slightest bit of empathy for me, it's the way I convinced myself that it was okay, it was okay to have sex against my will, just because you would be insecure and mad if I didn't. It was okay to be always anxious around you, to question my every move and walk on eggshells to avoid pissing you off. It's the way I gaslit myself into thinking this wasn't abusive and fucked up to begin with. And honestly it's the way your asshole friends act. Imagine being abused and isolated because you got out of the abusive situation. And it's the way I can't get over you. I had the worst time when I was with you, my ibd flared up and my depression got so much worse. But I... Miss you? I think about the good times we had. it was never entirely fun, but I felt love for you and that pisses me off It's the way yo...

 At what point do you realize that you are the toxic one and you need to fuck off?  I'm not sure what this is, a side effect of my new pills? My stupid hormones? Just the world as it is? I feel shitty, I am beginning to hate myself, it's been a downward spiral since I quit my job. I feel empty, I don't even want to eat or take showers, I just wanna lay down and let the whole world pass me by. If I died, I wouldn't mind it. The other day my psychiatrist asked me if I had suicidal tendencies, I said I didn't and I really didn't then, I should've added ask me again in a week doc!  Ugh  To exist, a pain in the ass I'm starting to think that maybe, I am the problem. I'm the reason why every friendship I had turned to shit, why I am never happy and nobody loves me the way I am. People love the idea of others.  And I, being the loser that I am tend to keep these ideas afloat. So you need a manic pixie girl? I'll be that. You need an intellectual sexy li...

 I know I have the privilege of being kinda thin and pretty and therefore being likable to most. but I have always felt like a misfit. I was never really a part of any family, apart from my real shitty one (minus my sister, she's a real angel), I've had friends and boyfriends, and I've been in their little circle of friends and for moments thought I belonged. but not for long. Those relationships fell apart. I grew apart from my friends and continued to seek this sense of belonging.  I have abandonment issues, and I have depression and anxiety. I get anxious and weird around people and it's hard for me to face criticism and rejection. I can't base my self-worth on myself and the faith that I am supposed to have in myself. I can keep a good appearance, most of the time but it's a fragile facade that can be SHATTERED in seconds.  Rejection to me (and a lot of other depressed and anxious people) is not a simple inconvenience or a mishap, it is a shiny bright sign t...

درزندگی ما آدمایی که نوجوونی فکر می‌کردیم آدمای خاصی هستیم و می‌دیدیم که بدون اینکه درس بخونیم نمره‌های خوب میاریم و همش این وایبو از اطرافیانمون می‌گرفتیم که باهوشیم یا حداقل خرخون‌های پنهانکاری هستیم ولی ته دلمون می‌دونستیم که هیچی درس نخوندیم و موفقیتمون فقط از باهوش بودنمون نشات می‌گیره مفهوم شکست و تلاش کاملا متفاوت صورتبندی شده. یعنی انقدری در زندگیمون برای هیچ چیزی تلاش آنچنانی نکردیم که ته دلمون فکر می‌کنیم همه چی، every fucking thing ممکنه، اگر به اندازه کافی تلاش کنیم.چون مساله رو این شکلی میبینیم که خب الان بدون اینکه تلاش کنم انقدر موفقم، اگه تلاش کنم که سوپرمن می‌شم. درحالی که اوپس، ماها نه معنی شکست خوردنو می‌دونیم و نه تلاش کردنو بلدیم. و خب یه چیزایی هستن که هرچقدرم براشون تلاش کنی، ممکن نیستند.این آدما، یعنی ذهنیتشون معمولا پس از ورود به دانشگاه دچار خلل میشه. چون دانشگاه پره از آدمایی که تلاش کردن و میکنن و دیگه تلاشنکردن نتیجه نمیده. و خود دانشگاهم هیچ گه خاصی نیست، حداقل برای من نبود. منم آدم دانشگاه نبودم، که اینم دیر فهمیدم. کل نوجوونیم فکر میکردم دانشگاه جاییه که...

there are times that I think about hurting myself, probably when I'm more depressed than anxious. when I do that, I'm actually glamorizing self-harm. I think about how beautiful the scars will be, and how freeing it would feel when the blood begins to pour. then I feel ashamed and guilty, don't be glamorizing self-harm you bitch! what is it about cutting that feels so... good? there's actually some science behind it: When it comes to sensing physical and emotional pain, our brains use the same two areas: the anterior insula, a small patch of neural real estate that’s part of the cerebral cortex behind each ear, and the anterior cingulate cortex, a hook-shaped piece of brain tissue towards the front of the brain. These are the areas in the brain that process pain, regardless of whether we’ve felt the sting of rejection or the sting of a bee. Pain relievers also act on these two areas, regardless of whether someone is experiencing emotional or physical pain. A 2010 study ...

Naked, I stand in front of the mirror, I try to look at my stomach that is not flat anymore and my breasts that are the biggest they've ever been, my neck that is reddish because of something I'm not sure of, I look at the new stretch marks I've gained, through getting fat. None of my fucking pants fit anymore and in this moment, I feel that's okay.  I like my upper body, I've always had. I like my skinny shoulders and my tall and pale neck.  There is something empowering about being naked. Like I don't have to cover up my secrets anymore, I can look at myself and feel that I am human, I am a sexual being, and my skin does a perfect job of covering my flesh and bones. For so long I have been ashamed of being human, I have thought that my worth was chained to my niceness or perfectness, I have thought that I alone, have to be held at a higher standard in order to deserve being happy. It's been so hard being nice to myself. Believing that I matter, just becaus...

It's cool that you have a place to chill and forget about everything that stresses you out, but the thing is I don't have such a place. I thought you were my safe place and you were, for a while. I'm not sure what changed. Once you were my happy place But now that it's clear that I'm not yours, I don't feel safe anymore. I don't even feel happy anymore. I just am, I merely exist and all I want is to live the reality of my life, which by the way, is that I am utterly alone. I thought you were what I always wanted, and I don't know what changed, but I want more, I want to stop feeling alone, stop worrying about pissing you off and for once, think about my self. I'm so sick and tired of merely existing to please others. I'm just so tired. I can feel my life leaking out of my skin, I feel worthless and stupid. All I want to be is alone, in a bath that's filled with fog, I want to be in a state of ignorance I feel ugly, fat and useless, I think I...

پیش نوشت: امکان داره که پس از خوندن نوشته تایتل مطلب به نظرتون گمراه‌کننده بیاد اون شب خواب دیدم که قرارداد امسال خونه م تموم شده و مجبور شدم به خونه مادرپدرم برگردم و با اونا زندگی کنم. خواب وحشتناک و غیر منطقی نبود ولی خیلی آزارم داد و تا مدت‌ها بهش فکر کردم. فکر می‌کنم وقتی برای مدت طولانی در تروما زندگی می‌کنی بهش کاملاً باور پیدا می‌کنی. تو خواب هم نمی‌بینی که این داستان تموم بشه و بتونی بدون کمترین مواجهه با تروما و یا بدون اون زندگی کنی. انقدر امیدت بارها ناامید و رشته رشته شده که یاد گرفتی که امید چیز خطرناکیه و بهتره بدون اون زندگی کنی. گاهی خلا وحشت رو احساس میکنی و عدم وجودشو غیرعادی می‌دونی. نمی‌تونی خوشحال باشی چون که یادگرفتی لیاقت خوشحال بودن نداری. یاد گرفتی امیدی که قراره به بدترین وجه ناامید بشه از اول شکل نگیره بهتره.  از وقتی که جدا شدم حقیقتاً وضعیتم بهتر شده. مادرم عوض هرروز، هفته‌ای یک یا دوبار مشکلات و ناراحتیا و افسردگی‌هاشو روم بالا میاره و روزهای کمتری در ماه کسی سرم داد میزنه و با هوار و نفرت از خواب پا میشم. اختیار زندگیم خیلی بیشتر دست خودمه و ب...

Unemployment sucks, especially if you had something to do and woke up nearly every day for your daily job. if you had a daily routine and a monthly income that kept a roof above your head and fed you or your family. It is almost maddening to suddenly lose your job, your income, and your daily routine. Here's a little list I made that keeps me sane and almost (I want to say happy? but God I'm not happy!) relaxed. (yup! that's the right word) 1. Do not sleep 'till 11 in the morning!  Wake up as you would've woken up if you had a job. When you find a job (notice that I said "when" not "if") it's gonna be hard to wake up early again and go about your day. 2. Keep a daily routine like I said, wake up early, maybe do some stretching, eat breakfast and do something. whether it's sending out resumes or cleaning the house or whatever. keep busy, eat lunch at a proper hour and sleep early. 3. Write down tasks for every day and cross the...

گاهی وقت‌ها حتی امنیت و عشق هم کافی نیست. حتی دانستن اینکه حسی که الان داری موقتی‌ست و به هورمون‌هایت ربط دارد کافی نیست. سعی می‌کنی بپذیری که قرص‌های ضد افسردگی کمی آدم را چاق می‍کنند و اینکه ترازو عدد ۵۷ را نشان دهد باعث نمی‌شود آدم کمتری باشی. سعی می‌کنی که عادت کنی که گاهی تنبلی، در هیچ کاری عالی نیستی ؤ اینکه نصف شلوارهایت پایت نمی‌روند عادیست. سعی می‌کنی قبول کنی که اشکالی ندارد کنار مردم آکواردی و ناخن می‌جوی و موهایت خوب واینمیسند یا لباس‌های ست نمی‌پوشی و کفش هایت همیشه تمیز نیست. سعی می‌کنی باور کنی که چهره و هیکلت تنها چیزهای ارزشمندت نیستن و اگر چاق هم بشوی هنوز کافی هستی. سعی می‌کنی باور کنی که کافی هستی. سعی می‌کنی باور کنی که به خودت اطمینان داری و خودت را دوست داری و کافی هستی

آیا آدمیزاد همیشه می‌فهمد کی دارد خل می‌شود؟   کامو فکر می‌کرد که سوال مهم این است که «آیا باید یک لیوان قهوه بخورم یا خودم را بکشم؟» اما به نظر من سوال اصلی این است که چگونه مطمئن باشم که دیوانه نشده‌ام. شاید در زمان کامو آدم‌ها به یکدیگر نمی‌گفتند که دیوانه شدی یا خیلی حساس شدی یا مشکل از توست. اما بحران اگزیستانسیال من بیشتر این است که آیا واقعاً من دیوانه م و همه مشکل‌ها را به وجود می‌آورم یا دیگران هم مشکلی دارند. من هیچوقت به احساسات خودم اعتمادی نداشتم. در یک سال اخیر اتفاقاتی افتاد که حتی اطمینانم کمتر شد. فکر می‌کنم که همیشه در آستانۀ غرق‌شدن در دیوانگی هستم و باید لنگری به جایی بیندازم که خودم را نجات دهم. که مطمئن شوم من مشکلی ندارم. و لنگرهارا به جای خودم به دیگران می‌اندازم. آن‌ها هم همیشه جوابی نمی‌دهند که انتظارش را دارم و همۀ این‌ها باعث می‌شود که حس کنم نفس کم آوردم و چند لیتر آب شور خورده ام. بخشی از این احساس غرق‌شدگی این است که من حق ندارم ناراحت شوم. یا دیگران را ناراحت کنم. اگر ناراحت شوم پایم را از گلیمم بیرون گذاشتم و دیگران دیگر دوستم ندارند. عجیب اس...