Die you fat fuck

elephant hungI just weighed myself. I gained four pounds. I have been thinking my entire life.

A year ago, when I started facing my mental illness and taking all these fucking medications I began to rapidly gain weight, forty pounds in six months.

I’m eating less, monitoring calories and I still can’t lose. I lost ten pounds in the first few weeks of dieting, now it hasn’t changed

I fucking hate my fat fucking disgusting fucking body. I do not understand how people lack the willpower to stop fucking eating. I do not understand feeling comfortable in public being overweight. I rather not advertise that as an adult human I have less control over myself than a dog.

I fucking hate my fat fucking fucking body. I can’t believe I still am not losing this. Fuck. You fucking disgusting fat fuck. Fuck. I fucking hate you. Stop fucking eating. Jesus fucking Christ.

Fuck. Fuck. I fucking hate you. You should fucking blow your brains out if you can’t even lose a bit of weight. Jesus. Fuck. Die. Fuck.

Die you fat fuck

You’re fat. Solve it or kill yourself.

Well, “friends.” I don’t have friends, Dan does. But we only kinda know these people.

I have had one beer. I am sitting here silent, now writing a blog. My mind is preoccupied with destroying myself.

I weighed myself before going to the bar. Fucking mistake. I’ve been dieting, last weighed myself a week ago and was down 15lbs. Still up 40lbs since starting Seroquel. Before all this, God, I’d been the same weight since I was fifteen. Now, Christ.

Well, as of today I’ve gained back 8lbs. Fuck.

I need to stop fucking eating. I fucking hate my fat fucking discusting body. I wouldn’t fuck me. Fuck.

I am still at the top end of the technical “healthy” weight range for my height. But that is horse shit. I have this belly, I have fat on my stomach. It is fucking discusting. I’m gay fat. 

I need to stop eating or fucking blow my God damn brains out. Fuck you, you fat fuck. I fucking hate you. Kill your fucking self.

And now, back to sitting silently at this table and listening to everyone else talk.

Kill yourself you fuck.

Current Medication: Nuvigil 250mg, Seroquel XR 150mg, Strattera 100mg, Pristiq 100mg, Memantine 10mg, Lamictal 200mg

You’re fat. Solve it or kill yourself.

Why do you hate yourself?

1900 - eight nation alliance

Oh, I know why. There is always a why. It starts with one or two thoughts, and then you spiral. You think of more and more reasons you are a worthless piece of shit. Go.

  • Fat
  • Working a job beneath you, yet you stay
  • Lazy
  • Slow
  • A mess
  • Desperate
  • Stupid, go do something worthwhile
  • Under-educated
  • Depressed
  • Disappear tomorrow, no one would fucking care
  • Weak
  • Mentally ill, mentally fucking weak
  • Boring, get a fucking hobby
  • Socially awkward, find a friend
  • Self pietying
  • Pathetic, waste time on this blog you fuck
  • A failure, go get a real education or job
  • A quitter, I probably should even try
  • Scared
  • Crave fucking attention
  • Crazy
  • Whiny, I hate you
  • Fucked
  • Dependent on your meds
  • Poor, fuck you
  • Unhealthy, eat more shit you shit
  • Ugly, why? look above, christ
  • Forgettable, why would they invite you
  • Shitty
  • Friendless, and you deserve it
  • Unlovable
  • Effeminate
  • God damn drug addict
  • Med abuser
  • You use alcohol sometimes to escape your problems
  • Really weak
  • Alone
  • Gay, homo, fag, fairy, fatty
  • Die
  • Christ, fuck you

Current Medication: Nuvigil 250mg, Seroquel XR 200mg, Strattera 100mg, Pristiq 100mg, Memantine 10mg, Lamictal 200mg

Why do you hate yourself?

You worthless drug addict

Take more medication. It will help. Take more than prescribed, it will help. They don’t get what this feels like, they would do the same. They don’t know the burden.

Fuck off. Medications have seemed so right lately. I’m not taking more. It’d make it tempting to take meds when feeling  down, when feeling a bit off.

But yesterday, not awful, but difficult. Many thoughts about wanting to die, thirty, maybe fifty. Life, worthless and pointless.

Take more. 


Do you want another yesterday? Take just a quarter more, it’s 62.5 milligrams added to the 250mg prescribed. It isn’t much. Take more. It will help.


Take more.

And then I rushed to the pill bottle, split one into quarters and swallowed it quickly. Relief. The stress of the debate was over. Will my mood improve? Likely. I’ll feel more alive for several hours. And what worthless drug dependent shitty fag depressive doesn’t deserve that?


You worthless drug addict

Make. This. Stop.

Facing my depression is the hardest thing I have ever done. I didn’t reach this conclusion lightly. Coming out was biggest challenge I had ever faced. Not sure my conservative family and friends would abandon me, preparing myself for some ruined relationship, making sure I was emotionally distant enough to ensure the ending of familiar relationship would not be catastrophic.
I wake up every morning scared. To face the day, scared of the various and plentiful triggers that developed over the past few years. What if I get a difficult email? What if I have to engage in an awkward social interaction? What if I feel tired all day and slack off at work? What if…. I stay scared for the first three to four hours of everyday.
Once Nuvigil kicks in my mind calms. It stops feeling overwhelmed by the variety of challenges I might face that day. Instead I can focus on the now, I can take my day step by step. Nothing seems impossible when I can get my head out of the clouds and into the now.
Today I am worried. By this time I am usually no longer struggling with my fear and desires to die. I just took the second part of my Nuvigil dose, desperation. Make it stop. Nobody deserves this.
I wish I had the bottle, I’d take more. It is times like this I stop caring.

It has largely faded. Why? I don’t know. Maybe that last fourth of Nuvigil kicked in. I can’t tell you how wonderful the relief is. It just disappears for a bit, life ceases to be overwhelming for a few hours a day.

I’m doing better. I can be in the moment more. This is so hard. The part that scares me most is the hopelessness of it all. We have tried so many meds, and yet I have found only partial relief. I don’t imagine any darastic new improvements. It seems this is where I’ll be. Maybe I’ll get used to. Maybe I will stop having such relentless desires to die, maybe.
I deserve this. My anxiety was always an issue. Now it is worse. But it appears to be worse due to my years of abusing Adderall. That is what I get for trying to skip my depressive episodes using stimulants.
Guilty. Always guilty. God, and this is me doing good. Right now I am at the best I’ve felt all day. And this is it.
I need to plan something this evening, something to look forward to. But I doubt I will come up with anything. Maybe I will. But I won’t actually look forward to it. I am just passing time. I don’t give a fuck about anything – anything other than this. This I give a fuck about. Make. This. Stop.

Make. This. Stop.

Medication solves depression

nwdlfse37ftwgupvi7d0zwcx8szlcfftynml2wnvyyaThis page has been blank for at least ten minutes. I am at a coffee shop. In a past life, before my depression consumed everything, I frequently dropped into a bunch of different local coffee shops. It is nice to get out of the house, work on whatever and people watch.

Of course, in the last few months before I entirely went off Adderall I rarely left the house other than for work. At work I was scared much of the time, a low level of panic throughout every day — all day. I feared social interaction, going to sleep, eating out, everything. The anxiety poisoned everything.

I’m fairly confident I’ve always operated in a state of mild anxiety. I know my first suicidal thoughts were in third grade. I relished the thought of the teacher telling everyone. The students would look shocked, some would cry, the boy who was mean to me would know it was his fault. Killing myself would solve so much.

At thirteen I began to grapple with my sexuality. Always, always had I been attracted to boys, to my friends. In fourth and fifth grade I’d play with myself while imagining my friends and I all  wrestling and rolling around naked. I didn’t know why I liked it, maybe I just want to check if I looked normal.

Growing up conservative I knew about the homosexuals. Perverts. Pedophiles. ——

You know what. Never mind. I want to explain why I am this way. I want to justify it. Tragic childhood. Self-hatred. Blah, blah, blah.

However, when I crash, when I want to die, taking a walk doesn’t pull me out of. Neither does going for a drive, or writing about it. Spending time with friends or having a dog also doesn’t interrupt my suicidal thoughts.

Telling myself my thoughts are just words, doesn’t help. Singing my suicidal thoughts to make them sound ridiculous, that is ridiculous. The thoughts still persist.

The desire to kill oneself isn’t rational. Even in those moments, the lowest of the low, when I am curled up into a ball screaming in my head to spray my brains on the wall, I know those thoughts aren’t rational. To some degree I’m aware I don’t want to die, even in those moments, it is why I am still here.

I feel fine right now, I’m glad to be at a coffee shop. I don’t feel fine because I got out of my house and went to a coffee shop. No, going out when crashing, terrifying, panic inducing.

Medicine can fix this. It is why Adderall got so out of control, it gave me access to a life I never realized existed. I hate myself, I hate myself because I view myself as a disappointment. And unless I become a tech billionaire and president, I’ll continue to be unsatisfied with my life.

Adderall showed me a life were I wasn’t paralyzed by the constant internal war. Adderall let me experience the world in the moment, it let me ignore my head and concentrate on now. Nuvigil is doing that right now. It goes up and down, part of the day/dose is better than others, parts are still bad.

I’ve always tried to fight this battle, always. There wasn’t a choice, you either fight against the suicidal thoughts or obey them.

The idea that my actions are useless, I hate. Partly because I feel personally responsible for every failure, I love torturing myself with those failures. Inability to function emotionally — failure. But I don’t think it is within my control. Medication is so different than therapeutic tools. Therapeutic tools comfort, to some degree, during those moments of internal warfare.

Medication removes the conflict from erupting, it prevents the war. There is no fight to lose, no carnage. There is just Saturday, me and a coffee shop.

Current Medication: Nuvigil 250mg (125mg at 7am, 125mg at 1pm), Memantine 10mg (new), Lamictal 200mg, Pristiq 100mg, Trazadone 100mg, Strattera 80mg, Seroquel XR 300

Medication solves depression