Right now I hate myself and I want to stop existing.

I think he would be happier without me.


I feel like I make him miserable.


I feel like I’m never going to be able to do all the things that he wants to do.


I feel like I’m alway going to be a let down.


I feel like I’m always going to have problems going places.


I feel like I’ll never be enough.


I feel like I bring more pain and misery to his life than happiness.


I don’t know if I can get over my issues.


Fuck, I really want to.


But I don’t know if I can.


I try really, really hard.


I don’t know if trying hard is good enough.


I don’t think it is.


It’s definitely not.


It’s not good enough.


I’m not good enough.


Nothing I do is good enough, no matter how hard I try.


Because I can’t get over these inner issues that I have.


The fear.


The fear always fucking stops me.


And my fear inflicts pain and misery on the people I love.


I feel like I don’t deserve to have people in my life.


I feel like I don’t deserve to have a life at all.


I feel like I’m a huge inconvenience.


I feel like I’m an embarrassment.


I feel like a nuisance.


I feel like no matter what I do, I don’t get better.


I feel like I’m going mad.


I am mad.


I feel like escaping.


But there’s nowhere to escape to.


It makes me physically hurt to see him in so much pain.


Pain because of me.


Pain because I have problems.


I shouldn’t do that to him.


Maybe he would be happier without me.


I sure as hell don’t think I’m worth it.


I don’t know why anyone would want to be with me.


A fucking agoraphobic.


A fearful, dysfunctional, panicked agoraphobic.


What’s the point?


I’m worthless.


I’m nothing.


I hardly exist.


My existance is a fucking laugh.


I don’t know what anyone sees in me.


I’m not worth it.


I’m just afraid.


A coward.


A fucking coward.


If I only had the nerve.


And inflicting this hurt on someone else is making me hate myself.


I hate myself for not being good enough.


I hate myself because I don’t push myself hard enough, and when I do push myself I melt down.


No one has patience for me, and I don’t blame them.


I’m a handful. Not a fun one.


No one wants to wait around for me to attempt to overcome “the terror.”


I don’t know why I’m still alive.


How is it that I still exist?


Is this even an existence?


What if I just stopped existing.


What if I just stopped.






I love him.


I don’t want to hurt him.


It seems like I can’t help but hurt him just because I am with him.


Being with me hurts.


Because I am hurting.


And I am afraid of fucking everything.


I feel undeserving of love.


I feel undeserving of attention.


I feel undeserving of acknowledgement.


I feel undeserving of anything good.


I don’t want to die.


I just want to stop existing.


I want to stop hurting the people I love.


I want to just stop.


I want to stop being afraid.


I want to be able to do things.




Kind of successful, not really, but maybe? Fuck it.

I successfully and unsuccessfully went to my boyfriends birthday party. First, he picked me up and I made it about an hour at his house before hyperventilating and crying in front of everyone and having to leave. I’m glad I don’t get embarrassed easily – although I guess it was probably embarrassing. At least I looked fabulous while having my meltdown.

So, back at my house. My roommates girlfriend is very empathic. We tend to see eye to eye on a lot of things spiritually… So she offered to go with me.

The damnedest thing happened. After we were at his house for a while, she started getting anxiety and all of these weird physical sensations that I’ve noted every time I go there. She ended up having to leave sooner than I needed to due to extreme discomfort.

I had not explained any of these sensations to her about the house, only that I was highly uncomfortable. Especially with the fact that my boyfriend ex was there, and bitch made the cake. I wanted to make the cake. I had an amazing cake planned out. I am awesome in the kitchen, and my cake would have kicked her cakes ass, but I didn’t want to have a cake war because I’m not a little kid. Still bitter. Need to get over it.

Anyway, back to the feelings. She was experiencing pain in the pit of her stomach, compression in her chest, shakiness, dizziness, not feeling grounded, and a barrage of other things. Not that I am glad that she had that experience, but I am glad that I am not the only one who has had that reaction to the house. Still trying to ascertain what my beliefs are on things like entities, ghosts, and spirits. I feel it would be unwise not to take it into consideration based on the sheer amount of people (unrelated to each other) who have contacted me regarding these matters in relation to me. I also had a psychic tell me that I am also a psychic. I do not see into the future, but I certainly feel what other people are feeling. I think it’s one of the reasons I have such a hard time in crowds, or uncomfortable situations. Severe empathy to the point of it being excruciating and uncomfortable, maybe?

So, I have to wonder how to tell my boyfriend that I feel extremely uncomfortable with being at his house. And I really really don’t want to go there anymore. I’ve only managed to make it there a handful of times, and each time results in the most uncomfortable and weird feelings/panic/nausea/etc. imaginable.

Anyway, I’m going to leave this with the song I started writing this to. I feel it is oddly appropriate in its own way. Thanks for reading. – Artemis

I have no idea how my love life is so complicated.

Seriously. I never leave the house.

I keep dating people that I knew ten years ago. They keep coming into my life, and it’s crazy.

And they always have issues that rival mine.

Still dealing with the borderline personality disorder that I dumped 6+ months ago. Seriously – what the hell is up with this? I broke up with him over six months ago and I’m still getting harassed on a near daily basis. He particularly enjoys finding all of my insecurities and throwing them in my face, trying to manipulate me into letting him come over, and when I say no, going off on hour long tangents about how fucked up I am.

Then there’s the guy I’ve been seeing lately who I’ve known for like 14 years. And he still looks like he wants to be Sid Vicious. Why do I find that so attractive? I have a weakness for tall dark haired boys in leather jackets and skinny jeans. And why do they always have to be ex-junkies? Why? Why do they always have to be so damned tortured? But it’s nice staying up all night with someone while they recite Shakespeare to you between swing dancing to Nick Cave songs and odd Johnny Thunders and Cramps songs. And he has successfully gotten me out of the house on multiple occasions now. Three grocery store trips! This is like, a six month record for me.

I feel like I just let things happen, as opposed to actually making decisions and taking charge of my life. But most of the time I don’t even know what I want. I feel totally lost, and I am trying so hard to hang on. I feel like I’m fighting to exist. I have no idea. Thanks for listening.


I’m trying so hard to keep it together.

I haven’t been blogging, I haven’t been doing much lately. I’ve been working on my book.

I didn’t step foot out of my house for about four months.

I’ve been making progress lately. It have gone out a few times, and a few times successfully without panic attacks.

Sometimes it feels like the apprehension is the worst. The apprehension before getting inside of a car. The apprehension of knowing I’m going to be stuck inside a car. What if we hit a red light? What if I get so freaked out that I want to jump out of the car while it’s moving? Sometimes that feeling of being completely trapped is so overwhelming that I want to escape, to anywhere. But there’s nowhere to escape to. I can’t escape my body.

For about two months (during/after my previous blog post), I would panic any time I was by myself. I don’t want to die, but the feeling of wanting to escape your body/reality so badly because it’s so painful that you would do anything to stop it is utterly terrifying. It’s like – I don’t want to die, but my desire not to have panic attacks is greater than my fear of death.

I have been seeing a therapist once a week who comes to my house which has been immensely helpful.

Although, I think that one of my biggest problems in receiving help is that I present too well. I always put a lot of effort into my appearance. I always try to look my best, dress up, etc. Even on the days I’m holed up in my house and I don’t see anyone, I do my makeup and spend an hour picking out a cute dress to wear. It helps keep the hopelessness at bay for some reason or another.

I don’t want to be like this. I want to be happy. I want to go places. I want to travel. I don’t just want to get out of my house – I want to travel the world, experience different cultures, explore, and LIVE. I feel like I’m on the surface. I don’t know what to do.

Well, tomorrow is my birthday and I’m not sure what the hell I’m going to do. I had really wanted to go see a concert of one of my favorite artists… but I’ve been unable to ride in cars due to massive panic attacks. I’m feeling so stuck. I’m trying to stay positive but damn, it’s getting harder and harder.