I Don't Know What's Wrong With Me...I Don't Feel Human

Here's a little background on me: I'm 18, a freshman in college, female. I was diagnosed with mild depression about a year ago and right after that it became major depression. I used to self-harm, not for very long, but that's done with now. I haven't experienced any major traumas that I'm aware of. I've attempted suicide once, this past August. I am an INFJ (Myers/Briggs Personality if you're familiar with it), it's really hard for me to connect to people, I don't feel like I can be emotionally close to anyone, and I think a lot, about everything.

Here goes...

I’m so miserable. But miserable’s not really the right word. I step back and look at everything and it could be so so SO much worse. So am I miserable? I don’t know. I’m unhappy about some things. But overall it couldn’t really get much better. At least in terms of external setup. But yeah, obviously internal matters too. The thing is, I’m not unhappy like I was before. Not straight up depressed where it was easy to know what I was feeling and kind of why, at least at some points. I think it’s more of a mild depression now. Back to where I used to be way back when. But more knowledgeable now. Less ignorant and more prone to the harsh reality of everything. I wish I could forget what I knew. Then I’d still have the off feeling but not the extremes that I’ve become so familiar with. But that might not even be true. It might be worse that way. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Stop putting yourself down. Not good. Ah but now I’m criticizing myself for criticizing myself and so the cycle repeats and repeats into the treacherous landscape of the presents and past and future and forever. I just feel so utterly alone. I feel somewhat close to certain people but I am always, ALWAYS aware that I’m not as close as I want to be. And I really don’t think I’ll ever find anyone that I’ll be able to be completely close to and comfortable with. And that’s just the way it is. But at the same time, I need that. I need someone – that someone – who can help me and connect to me and be with me and make everything okay. And since I have no faith that I’ll ever find that person, what’s the point? I haven’t been feeling suicidal, per say, but I’ve been having strong suicidal thoughts. It’s weird how easily they come now. I wasn’t having any for a while, basically since the first month I’d been down here at college but after therapy on Friday it was just bam. I was crossing the street to campus and I just wanted to stop in the middle. Stop walking. Stop trying. Stop pretending. Stop holding it together. Stop living. But I kept walking. It was weird, my legs became robotic and automatic and just kept propelling me forward even though my heart and mind were trying to get me back in the middle of the road. And life is so arbitrary when it comes down to it. There are all these systems and machines and blah blah blah. But everything is just so unwonderful. But at the same time it is wonderful. It’s wonderful in the hidden treasures I come across. But everything else seems so grey in comparison. I feel like I’m not real sometimes. I feel like I have all these gifts and talents just to fit in like everyone else. Like it’s my toolbox. And everyone has a toolbox that’s a little different. Except everyone else are workers. And their toolboxes are them. But me, I’m different. I’m not a worker. The toolbox just disguises me and it does it remarkably well. No one knows who I really am. I’ve done it so well, in fact, that I don’t even know the real me. Fantastic. But anyway, what I was trying to say with this whole toolbox thing is that in some ways, everything I am seems fake. Not real. Or not significant. Like it’s not my main purpose. Like I’m destined for something more. But almost just that I know the truth – about life, about people, about how ridiculously pointless and stupid everything humanity is and does is – and I’m here to observe and report back. I don’t feel human. I am so human in some things I do and feel – heartbreak, tears, pain, identity crisis. But it never feels completely real. I like pain. That’s not normal. And **** whatever normal actually is, I don't care, I’m just trying to use some standard of comparison. Maybe that’s why I use to love the sadness so much. The deep depths of despair that depression brought with it – they welcomed me and made me feel real. I was real for those short periods of time. But then it would fade into this crazy human construct of happiness – the thing that baffles me more than anything else, besides myself. And I would be lost in the trash-ridden dirty waves of a life that means almost nothing to me. Even though I’ve built it up to be so much. These words feel real, if I even know what real is anymore. When I’m writing like this I go somewhere else. Somewhere where this all feels so true but so distant. And I’m so utterly emotionless and numb right now, not caring about anything. See if I care. Oh look, I don’t. I’m not trying not to care. Not trying to put up some wall to hide what I’m really feeling. Well maybe I am. Maybe I’ve just done it so well and effortlessly that I don’t even know it’s there. And I don’t even know what’s behind it. And I never will. Because it’s invisible. Like me. But there nonetheless. Stronger than anyone will ever know. But not weak like me.

I don't know what I want people to respond to, just curious if anyone's felt the same way about any of this. Thanks for reading, I've never shared this with anyone.
unknownpotential unknownpotential
18-21, F
2 Responses Dec 2, 2012

this just about somes up how i feel as well, thanks for posting this. I guess there are more people then i thought who feel the same.

Wow...I usually never read long stories, but this just sounds EXACTLY like me one year ago. Eerie almost. So if you ever need to talk or vent, my message box is always open.

Huh, wow. Thanks a lot! I may just take you up on that, and same for you!