Apologies for the terrible image quality - I’m lacking scanner access at the minute so I had to take these photos on my phone
I was reading hyperbole and a half’s blog entry explaining their experience of depression and decided to make another sketchy comic based on my experiences with anxiety, which is another mental illness I think people tend to misunderstand quite frequently
Hopefully this will be of use to some people - whether they suffer from anxiety themselves or if they just want to know more about it
This is a very good piece. It says some important things.
I go trough this everyday. On both sides. You just have to always be there to comfort them. Never abandon them.
This is so important
my boyfriend and i had a massive argument. he said i was the most boring person he’s dated so i quietly walked out the room and decided it was time for “me time”, went on tumblr, ran a bath and here i am having the time of my life with something called fun and purple hair toner. he also unfollowed me on tumblr so i hope this is reblogged enough so that he sees it and realises what he is missing out on the little shit
I’M NOT EVEN GOOD AT THINGS I’M GOOD AT
I honestly cannot tell you how worthless and disgusting I feel. I hate myself. I’m revolting.
They’re having a talk on sex tonight at youth group. I’ve heard lots of church talks about sex at church. They all trigger me. They say things like ‘if you have a past then it’ll effect your future husband and your relationship’, and that hurts me so much to hear. It might be different, being molested and sex, but I still feel the same. I still feel like if I tell my future husband about being molested as a kid it’ll be the same type of burden and they won’t love me as much. Maybe they’ll leave me. They say it’s different, but it’s the same though, really, when you think about it, isn’t it? Some other filthy man has touched me before my husband will. It’s still a burden. It complicates things. The only difference is the consent. I hate myself for being molested. There, I said it. I bet he didn’t think it would be like that. I bet he doesn’t think about the other children he touched and think ‘in eight years time they will hate themselves for something I did to them.’ I absolutely hate myself, because I feel like I am not whole. How is that fair? The last sex talk we had, I went home and cut surely close to 100 times on my forearm. I was so triggered and felt so disgusting and worthless, absolutely worthless. I wanted to die. I can never be loved. Love is out of the question for me. I took a handful of pills and swallowed them and just lay there and wished it would kill me, though I knew I’d only get cramps and then vomit it back up. I’d done it before, it wasn’t unfamiliar to me. But I could still wish.
Needless to say, I decided to leave youth tonight before the talk. I’m still obviously feeling pretty triggered, but it’s not unbearable. I can get through the night. I’ve had my sedative, I’ll be asleep soon. I hope so, anyway.
im slowly unlearning how to english
my mother said i could be anything i wanted so i became an anxious and antisocial recluse with an internet dependence and an intolerance for natural light
Red hair, and a hand-me-down robe?