pov I looked up the definition of hypochondriac
I just wanted to know what it ment 馃槶馃槶 why does this keep happening to me
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why can't I just google things I don't know and not realize something about myself
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I will forever live with the information that I could potentially have an aneurysm that could potentially EXPLODE in my BRAIN and kill me. I know the chances are low but I can't not think about it.
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It's my body, my pain.
My facial and spian asymmetry, my sleepless nights in pain, my clothes not sitting properly on my shoulders body, my loss of feeling in the right side of my body, the feeling compressed, the breasts pulling down.
Nobody cares.
It's all hypocondria and a cry for attention.
Or when money is involved, I'm a gold mine.
No care, no empathy, no recovery.
Just suffering.
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day 200 of trying to figure out if im overthinking my experiences and looking at everything in black and white again or if im actually experiencing symptoms
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||Itch P.t 3|||
Part 3 in AltF4 Quotes
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We all get that feeling, the Itch.
Though most can satisfy it with a simple scratch. Mine yearn for more. They whisper sweet nothings into my ear as the feeling grows.
It stems from the bones hidden deep in my skin. A simple itch or bite can never subdue it. As the day turns to weeks, I even went 3 months once; I change, get more agitated, voices set me off. Some make the Itch grow faster, and it can't stop.
It keeps growing until I fold, bend and twist into the Itches will.
I punch walls till I get splinters or dig so deep into my skin blood rushes out from the wound.
It's not a choice. I don't have a choice. I must hurt myself. I must feel pain.
It whispers to me, 'just one, one will do. One punch, one cut, one slam into the desk.'
But I know they're lying, one is never enough, and I know that, but I can't do anything against it. As the realisation of losing friends and people because I'm just me feeds the Itch.
They don't talk to me; they don't care.
The ones I want to care about don't even message back anymore. I'm left to feeling nothing, and it's funny, really.
Getting so overwhelmed that it just becomes nothing, that's why I have to.
That's why I have no choice but to listen to the Itch.
Because if I can't feel the pain it brings. Then I don't deserve to exist.
The Itch grows and moves. It starts in the hands and elbows, but the Itch slowly consumes my whole body, littered with scars. It now doubles in fresh wounds. I can't stop.
I yearn for the feeling. No.
I itch, I crave, I succumb to the stinging feeling of blood rushing to the surface, overflowing the cut till it drips onto the wooden floor beneath me. I'm never satisfied, but the Itch is.聽
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merch that was being sold at brakence鈥檚 hypochondriac tour.
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pov you are argentine: body hurts. it can be normal tiredness from work, stress because of the current situation (there is always a situation) or dengue that will fucking kill you
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i got jumpscared bc my piss was dark brown but its just the meds they gave me in the ER
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Just drank water that tasted like laundry soap this morning and didn't realize something was up until I came back to it just now... ORZ
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