A while back, I had a big passion for writing. I loved to play the piano. Drawing pictures was something I couldn't live without. Doing my schoolwork was a task I felt like I could do without slaving myself over to work.

During December 2017, I started having sexually intrusive thoughts that made me want to off myself. I was moody, irritated, and wanted to isolate myself because I found myself dangerous.

Over the course of the year, my anxiety has increased. I can't sit down and feel like I can do something simple without feeling like the worst will happen, whether it is related to my work or not. 

High school. College? Scholarships? Essays every week. Finals are coming up. Stress makes my anxiety and my mood worse. I contacted a Crisis Counselor for suicidal thoughts the other day because I couldn't sleep. I was so angry and furious and I didn't want to deal with myself anymore. But I keep enduring through the pain.

I was referred to psychiatry after my last therapy session. It's a load of shit that I scheduled my next therapy appointment so late, but sometimes dates don't work out. 

I don't love myself anymore. Everything I do is wrong. Morally base. In ill will. Selfish. Moronic. Messed-up. Writing is full of anxiety. Piano playing is fear that I will just never change my style and that I will never feel happy from it. Novelty is the only thing that keeps me happy, but novelty dies off *very quickly.* 

I hate myself. Like *hate* myself. Deep down. I have no respect for myself. 

My brain feels like it's on autopilot. My life feels like it's on autopilot. But then I get a few days of high motivation and I feel really good. But those days don't last long. In fact, as soon as they're over, everything I planned becomes rubble. 

It's eating me up inside. My heart won't stop beating to the rhythm of my racing mind. I hate that I'm so high functioning--I high-function, lifeless robot. 

I've also been told countless times that I have to will myself out of my mental illness. I hate it! It constricts me. It makes me feel like the worst person alive. 

I don't know how to explain this feeling, but I feel dysphoric. I hate always feeling on edge. I hate these thoughts. I hate not having the energy to do anything and then I cram the night before! I wish I had nothing to do to reflect the nothingness that I hold inside. I'm hollow. You can see it in my extracurriculars versus my grades. Straight A's. No clubs or organizations or self-projects that I am working. The dichotomy between that kills me. I only care about others. Others are the only people I can experience. I no longer have a self I care about anymore.

It's like my self is dead. I like certain things, but I don't like them. I want to tell stories, but my mind rather be paranoid about whether I sent something inappropriate to my teachers despite 100% evidence of me not doing it or me being arrested for something I never did or me feeling like the entire world is watching me as I work, never feeling solitude. I only feel isolation or go along with the group. 

But I feel like it's my fault since every time I have a bad mood due to these things (who wouldn't when all their life is sucked from them?) other people say I should just stop being a jerk or rude. I don't want to be these things, and I feel more guilty, and I start getting paranoid about whether or not everyone else thinks the same, and I wonder if there's any hope for me.

I'm the robot who slaves to put up an image to hide the hollowness inside my metal. And I cannot for the love of god stop feeling so anxious. Not the cute "Oh, I'm anxious!" anxious--thoughts of doom, fight or flight, worst-case scenarios, me doubting my memories, etc.