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Old Jun 06, 2006, 02:57 AM
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valium_is_love valium_is_love is offline
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Member Since: May 2006
Location: Miami, FL
Posts: 7
I've posted here a couple times before, but this time i'm not asking for advice. This is just really for me to vent I guess.

I feel like i'm losing my mind. Everything seems so unfamiliar and so surreal. I spend 3/4 of my day trembling and trying to catch my breath. I'm so tired of all this ******** and i'm sick of having to make my parents hold my hand for hours and hours. I'm 19, not 2, and I feel needier and more dependant now than ever before. This is unbearable and I have no idea how i'm going to make it through another day. Every day seems to just get worse and worse. I started taking Zoloft 2 days ago, plus Valium. I don't even feel like myself anymore. Which is also scaring the crap out of me. I feel so dead inside. I'm so consumed by anxiety. I spend hours a day in bed just crying and hyperventilating and trembling. What the %#@&#! is wrong with me? I need to get out of his house, I need to get out of this ROOM for christs sakes and I can't. I don't have a comfort zone anymore. I panic in my room, I panic outside. I can't sleep anymore for longer than an hour or 2 at a time.

I really feel like i'm going crazy and no one will listen to me. I feel like i'm losing grip of reality and everyone's just saying it's anxiety. I kind of wish I just would snap already just for the relief. I'm sick of anticipating each morning and i'm sick of being a burden to my family and i'm sick of waking up and i'm just really %#@&#! sick of everything right now. I want to commit myself but I CAN'T LEAVE THE HOUSE. I'm sick of doctors giving me the same ole same ole run around and i'm sick of them getting fed up with me. I'm sick of people in general just %#@&#! ditching me all the time.

I've never been this bad before. I'm so scared. I don't see a light at the end of this tunnel. I don't see myself ever getting better.

I got my heart broken tonight, and I feel like it's just sending me straight over the edge.

This blows. Seriously.
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As I hide behind these books I read, while scribbling my poetry, like art could save a wretch like me, with some ideal ideology that no one can hope to achieve. And I am never real; it is just a sketch in me. And everything I made is trite and cheap and a waste of paint, of tape, of time.