I'm falling apart and can't go on

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(Trigger warning: if you're suicidal, eating disordered, or overweight and sensitive about it, you probably want to turn back now. Although I'll speak very unkindly of heavy people in this post, please know the only person I feel this way about is myself, and anything cruel and irrational I say about my weight does not extend to my thoughts on you or anyone else. The things I'm about to say about fat people are really mean and stupid things to say, and they're absolutely one hundred percent wrong; on an intellectual level, I'm well aware of that. Please don't let me make you sad. All bodies are beautiful. All bodies except for mine.)

Hi. My name's Jaime. I'm 22 and aspire to a career of software development.
I'm losing my mind.

Let me begin by saying I feel guilty. Not for anything in particular; simply as a matter of personal character. I just feel guilty. I have this inescapable sense that I'm fundamentally a bad person. I feel lazy, selfish, weak minded, and altogether hideous both inside and out, and nothing I can do, say, think, or feel can ever be good enough to change that. I feel that I'm a burden on my family, a burden on society, a burden on nature, and nothing else of value, and I feel my obesity is proof that nothing I ever feel is real -- that none of my experiences are valid, because I'm too fat, spoiled, and greedy to have any right to be sad. Why should I be upset that I'm not having any meaningful experiences or growing at all as a person? After all, this is the life I'm meant for, isn't it? Comfort over contentment, gluttony over grace -- that's the life I was made for; my metaphysical purpose in the universe is to be the Platonic archetype of a greedy, heartless, disgusting, hedonistic slob, an antagonist to all things beautiful or righteous -- a black hole of resources, existing solely to smell awful and take up too much space, solely to cause more suffering in the world among edible animals and other people alike, solely to drain my suroundings of all life and color and give nothing back but bad gas.

So says the cruel little voice in my head day in and day out. I don't know where it came from; the seed was sown somewhere a long time ago, with something so hurtful I forced myself to forget it moments after it happened and can't remember it to this day, and from there, it just kind of crept up on me. It started out quiet, but over the years, it's become inescapable and insurmountable. It won't even listen to reason; the more excuses I find not to hate myself, the more I do, and these nasty thoughts seem to enter my mind by force, without my conscious will, as if spoken to me by someone else, someone very intrinsically persuasive whom I can't stand up against. Some days I gorge myself on purpose, as if to validate it, as if to say, "yes, I really am a fat pig"; sometimes I eat nothing for weeks, as if to beg desperately for its forgiveness and approval, as if to claw desperately for whatever warped concept of virtue and pride I can appropriate from the depths of my madness; but no matter what I do, the voice only gets louder and more hateful. The voice is so loud now that I can no longer bear it. It's so loud now, that behind the words, a smaller persuasive message in the background, once too quiet to hear, has become discernible. Over and over again, it says: "Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself." The insults and hate keep trumpeting, and always in the background, "kill yourself, kill yourself," like the clanking of some kind of awful machine.

No longer able to stave off the messages with food, nor with deprivation thereof, I've resorted to tearing out chunks of my skin with my fingernails to create small, bloody wounds, and then wadding up the removed skin into little dry balls and flicking them around for awhile before throwing them away. Everything about it is euphoric: the feeling of cleansing an imperfection, purging the immoral parts away; the lively stinging of fresh air on my bare dermal nerves; the nasty tension as I peel it away, and the immediate relief and resolution to a "cleaner" kind of pain as the wound gives way and opens up; the relief of smooth skin once again; the tender satisfaction of watching the blood pool up and dabbing it dry with a tissue. It's almost like I'm digging to where the real hurt is, trying to find that nasty feeling under my skin that's all in my head and tear it right out. My arms, legs, and feet are covered in rough, discolored welts from where I've ripped them up and let them heal and scar.

Please help me. I don't know what to do. I've been to about one-third of my classes so far this quarter, and done maybe a single homework assignment or so. Nothing matters or is worth doing anymore; it's taking me all my concentration just to keep myself out of the grave. Yesterday I sat peering over the edge of a cliff for probably about ten minutes, and I'm relieved that I got up and walked away, but I'm still not sure why. In addition to my previously established Asperger diagnosis, my psychiatrist has recently diagnosed me with binge eating disorder, depression, and OCD, which seems pretty accurate. Under her supervision I've been taking antidepressants and anti-anxiety supplements, and while they do wonders, they're just not enough. I'm losing it.

I just want to give up and call it quits -- you know, withdraw from school, run away from home, live in a cozy alley somewhere eating trash, see how long I last before I get shot. Maybe I'll even lose weight. Every time I do a Google search on "how to diet," it turns into "how to diet if you have no willpower or self control," and that turns into "how to diet if you're a piece of s**t," which turns into "ways that being fat is morally wrong," which somehow turns into "would it hurt to shoot up bleach." Last night I had a dream that I weighed 80lbs and was dying on a hospital bed, and that dream made me happy. I don't know how much longer I can stand being trapped in this living hell of a mindset. I know my grades certainly can't stand it any longer, at least. I need to escape, and I need to escape now, because this is my last chance to amount to something, and if I let my autism and worsening mental health crisis get in the way, I'll be under my mother's care for the rest of my life, and I'll probably eat us both onto the streets. Please help. I'm so lost.

Sorry for the huge post. My verbosity is a manifestation of my autism; I'm challenged in regard to consolidation.

I don't know how to help, but I can tell you that you're not alone. I have a lot of the same conditions - Asperger/autism (or at least quite a few of the symptoms; I haven't been formally evaluated yet), anxiety, depression (although I'm past the worst of it now), eating issues (which are more or less described by night eating disorder), and dermatillomania (which may or may not be what you have, although the presentation at least sounds similar). I've actually never heard of anyone having such a similar list of disorders. PM me if you want to talk.

What kind of software do you design?

Hi JaimeMcCann,

Praying for your healing and peace.
Hope you feel better soon.

You are a brilliant writer and obviously very intelligent. Like many others here, I wish I could decrease your psychological burden, but the human mind is so complex and seems so illogical that a logical solution is so hard to find. I can only wish you peace and express my desire that you not give in to the "kill yourself" voice. It's rare that I get to experience written expression in such a proper format as your post. You have a beautifully structured mind. The world really does need you. Please don't thin the Asperger herd. Is it possible that you could find an obsession (a healthy one) that you could focus on to the exclusion of other thoughts?

I just wnat to say if u want to get well u can but u have to make an effort. Think about your family and how unhappy they would be or your friends if they heard you say this.
I also have aspergers and the best way to get better is to focus your mind on other people to help someone else makes you forget about your problems sometimes.

You should try to have a religion, i know that a majority of people with aspergers are not religious because they think too logically but you should forget about your resoning and experience religion and god.

You could also become interested in politics that might help your brain reconnect to the real world.

Have you considered pouring any energy you have into designing software to help people with the shortcomings you may have and to help your fellows who are Asperger, or otherwise on the spectrum?

Hi. My name's Jaime. I'm 22 and aspire to a career of software development.
I'm losing my mind.

Let me begin by saying I feel guilty. Not for anything in particular; simply as a matter of personal character. I just feel guilty. I have this inescapable sense that I'm fundamentally a bad person. I feel lazy, selfish, weak minded, and altogether hideous both inside and out, and nothing I can do, say, think, or feel can ever be good enough to change that. I feel that I'm a burden on my family, a burden on society, a burden on nature, and nothing else of value, and I feel my obesity is proof that nothing I ever feel is real -- that none of my experiences are valid, because I'm too fat, spoiled, and greedy to have any right to be sad. Why should I be upset that I'm not having any meaningful experiences or growing at all as a person? After all, this is the life I'm meant for, isn't it? Comfort over contentment, gluttony over grace -- that's the life I was made for; my metaphysical purpose in the universe is to be the Platonic archetype of a greedy, heartless, disgusting, hedonistic slob, an antagonist to all things beautiful or righteous -- a black hole of resources, existing solely to smell awful and take up too much space, solely to cause more suffering in the world among edible animals and other people alike, solely to drain my suroundings of all life and color and give nothing back but bad gas.

So says the cruel little voice in my head day in and day out. I don't know where it came from; the seed was sown somewhere a long time ago, with something so hurtful I forced myself to forget it moments after it happened and can't remember it to this day, and from there, it just kind of crept up on me. It started out quiet, but over the years, it's become inescapable and insurmountable. It won't even listen to reason; the more excuses I find not to hate myself, the more I do, and these nasty thoughts seem to enter my mind by force, without my conscious will, as if spoken to me by someone else, someone very intrinsically persuasive whom I can't stand up against. Some days I gorge myself on purpose, as if to validate it, as if to say, "yes, I really am a fat pig"; sometimes I eat nothing for weeks, as if to beg desperately for its forgiveness and approval, as if to claw desperately for whatever warped concept of virtue and pride I can appropriate from the depths of my madness; but no matter what I do, the voice only gets louder and more hateful. The voice is so loud now that I can no longer bear it. It's so loud now, that behind the words, a smaller persuasive message in the background, once too quiet to hear, has become discernible. Over and over again, it says: "Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself." The insults and hate keep trumpeting, and always in the background, "kill yourself, kill yourself," like the clanking of some kind of awful machine.

No longer able to stave off the messages with food, nor with deprivation thereof, I've resorted to tearing out chunks of my skin with my fingernails to create small, bloody wounds, and then wadding up the removed skin into little dry balls and flicking them around for awhile before throwing them away. Everything about it is euphoric: the feeling of cleansing an imperfection, purging the immoral parts away; the lively stinging of fresh air on my bare dermal nerves; the nasty tension as I peel it away, and the immediate relief and resolution to a "cleaner" kind of pain as the wound gives way and opens up; the relief of smooth skin once again; the tender satisfaction of watching the blood pool up and dabbing it dry with a tissue. It's almost like I'm digging to where the real hurt is, trying to find that nasty feeling under my skin that's all in my head and tear it right out. My arms, legs, and feet are covered in rough, discolored welts from where I've ripped them up and let them heal and scar.

Please help me. I don't know what to do. I've been to about one-third of my classes so far this quarter, and done maybe a single homework assignment or so. Nothing matters or is worth doing anymore; it's taking me all my concentration just to keep myself out of the grave. Yesterday I sat peering over the edge of a cliff for probably about ten minutes, and I'm relieved that I got up and walked away, but I'm still not sure why. In addition to my previously established Asperger diagnosis, my psychiatrist has recently diagnosed me with binge eating disorder, depression, and OCD, which seems pretty accurate. Under her supervision I've been taking antidepressants and anti-anxiety supplements, and while they do wonders, they're just not enough. I'm losing it.

I just want to give up and call it quits -- you know, withdraw from school, run away from home, live in a cozy alley somewhere eating trash, see how long I last before I get shot. Maybe I'll even lose weight. Every time I do a Google search on "how to diet," it turns into "how to diet if you have no willpower or self control," and that turns into "how to diet if you're a piece of s**t," which turns into "ways that being fat is morally wrong," which somehow turns into "would it hurt to shoot up bleach." Last night I had a dream that I weighed 80lbs and was dying on a hospital bed, and that dream made me happy. I don't know how much longer I can stand being trapped in this living hell of a mindset. I know my grades certainly can't stand it any longer, at least. I need to escape, and I need to escape now, because this is my last chance to amount to something, and if I let my autism and worsening mental health crisis get in the way, I'll be under my mother's care for the rest of my life, and I'll probably eat us both onto the streets. Please help. I'm so lost.

Sorry for the huge post. My verbosity is a manifestation of my autism; I'm challenged in regard to consolidation.

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"I'm 22 and aspire to a career of software development." it seems like a disproportionate number of autistics are software engineers or similar jobs. if you are good at it and you like it, then good for you. allegedly, those jobs pay a lot of $$ and there are plenty of those jobs.

"I feel lazy, selfish, weak minded, and altogether hideous both inside and out, and nothing I can do, say, think, or feel can ever be good enough to change that."

change or do not change. only you can and will make that decision. do not let peer pressure get you down. but, whatever you choose, you take moral responsibility for it. there are some things that can't be changed. some things can only be changed a little, with a lot of energy. but sometimes it is surprising what you can change, when you take the correct technique.

"lazy" and "selfish" are just subjective. anyone can call anything lazy or selfish. quite frankly i do not think it is functional or possible to be selfless. but whatever.

"I feel my obesity is proof that nothing I ever feel is real". the media portrays a stereotype of the obese as lazy, stupid, and inferior. that stereotype is not necessarily correct.

"have any right to be sad". everyone has a right to be sad. what you look like does not determine if you have a right to be sad.

"Some days I gorge myself on purpose, as if to validate it, as if to say, "yes, I really am a fat pig"; sometimes I eat nothing for weeks, as if to beg desperately for its forgiveness and approval, as if to claw desperately for whatever warped concept of virtue and pride I can appropriate from the depths of my madness; but no matter what I do, the voice only gets louder and more hateful."

go to a medical doctor. nutritionist. discuss your eating difficulties.

Over and over again, it says: "Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself."
do not tell a mandated reporter that. 5150. seriously.

talk to your instructors about what you can do. go to the office of disabled students at your school. arrange testing accommodations.

if it is too late to pass the class, then drop the class. take it again next semester. or change majors to a different majors. or go to a different school.

take anger management lessons

meditation lessons