It is a constant and sharp tugging. “You feel upset about what your slow, sloppy mass of a body has failed to achieve?. “You can’t quite decide what your always dulling brain is suggesting you are supposed to become at this juncture in your life?”
Just drink! Alcohol! At all times that you are not in the workplace! Hate yourself more than you ever thought possible! Pull and tug at all your hanging and sebaceous skin until you can find no reason to carry out your existence! Paste your self-worth precisely on how others react to your presence! Always be sorry! For anything! Even if you have committed no discernible offense!
I don’t even care. You don’t like me? Great, because that means you’re an idiot, because I am probably the easiest person to get along with.
Illustrations done in collaboration with Amsterdam Worldwide for Scalpel, a Pernod Ricard publication.
I slept for like 16 hours today. I feel like I am slowly dissolving into a puddle of seeping slime, soon I won’t even be a corporeal being. I cannot help feeling separate from everything I want to be a part of, everyone I want to be close to.
I have been depressed for most of my life, I have hated myself, hated that I can never seem to pull my thoughts together long enough to be a productive human, to be good at anything whatsoever.
I have starved myself for days, eaten everything in sight until vomit is cascading out of the toilet and I stumble around in a dizzy haze all day, drank regularly to achieve any measure of fleeting, pleasant hopefulness that degrades into more self-abasement.
I really am at a loss for options on how to continue my life.