Hey everyone, sorry I haven’t been around.
Been having a couple of shitty days, mentally, emotionally and physically. Been abusing my meds and cutting again.
I’m in no place to be helping anyone rn.
Just wish the bus I’m in right now crushes.
I’ll come back to you later, if feeling better.
Love you all.
I feel kind of embarrassed for coming back here. It’s been at least two or three months since I wrote anything or even read other’s thoughts. I thought I was feeling better and didn’t need to come back here and I was going to delete this account and act as if I never belonged here. I’m glad I didn’t delete it. For the past few months things have been going fine. I finished a few online classes and been more social. Thing is, I still feel lonely. In the beginning of March my grade went on a trip and I bunked with three other friends. We talked and gossip like normal teens. Then one of them told me it was my turn to rant about my life and tell my so-called deep secrets. I told them I’d pass because I don’t trust them enough. Also it’s hard and they said it’s fine but I felt like I lost them after that. Yes, they are my friends but it’s hard to tell anyone personally what I go through and how I feel since in the first place I don’t even know how I feel about things. Anyways, this morning I had the house to myself and I went into my parents room looking for something but I found something else. My mom’s diary. I know it was wrong to open it. It was never my place to read it. I couldn’t help myself. I thought it couldn’t be that bad, because what could be so dark in my mom’s life? Turns out, she had a few secrets. There wasn’t many entries just a small handful when she meet my dad for the first time and when they married, how she missed her first two daughters from a previous marriage, the how she was pregnant with me. Then I read a entry about how my dad cheated and how he lied to her about it. I knew my parents has have rough patches and has had a marriage counselor because I found a business card and book in my car trunk once, they still have never told me about. Still I didn’t know he has done this before, before I was even born. It hurt. I never thought my dad would be that person. I never thought my mom felt this way and how she hates herself for the things she has gone through. I’ve told one friend how my parents have had counseling but I feel like I can’t talk to her anymore, she isn’t as close to me anymore. So I decided I would come back here and try and get these feelings out of me again. I read the last few entries of the diary and my mom said how she was happy about being pregnant with me and I started crying even more. Now my mom doesn’t tell me how she loves me and shows affection. But when she wrote it out I felt so many different emotions. Happy that she really does love me but then sad and angry how she doesn’t tell me it anymore because I feel like I need someone to really tell me that they care about me, so that I know I can still be here and have some meaning. The worst part was the last few words. It stated, I still love my husband and my beautiful daughter. I don’t know how long I have been crying now probably thirty minutes. I don’t know if I can ever look at my dad the same now. I don’t know what I feel about my parents now. Or even how I feel about myself. My mom’s life would be completely different if she never had me, of course. But what scares me, I guess, is that would she better happier if she never had me or meet my dad.
So thanks to anyone who spent their time reading this. I guess I kind of missed being on here to be honest. Everyone goes through things, they’re never the same but we all cope in some way or another and I know people here are kind and honest. I like that. I like it here. I think I’ll be back more often since I feel like it helps to talk to someone, anyone.
I’m feeling better than yesterday.
Migraine is gone, at least for now.
I can sit up without getting dizzy, and I can open my eyes without feeling like I’m going to throw up a small continent.
In fact, today I felt well enough to get out and actually DO a few things.
Yay for things.
How are the rest of you doing?
Hi again, Doctor
Of COURSE I’m feeling better
You don’t mind lies, right?
Made of wet cement
With the strength of a kitten
I will stay in bed
Which one is the time machine
Should I go back, or….?
A world of dark gray
Matches all of my outfits!
I look like I cared
Sleeping like zombies
Wide-eyed for hours again
On the same old slab
SP is one place
I do not have to explain
What it’s really like
Now im thinking of how I i spoke and wrote earlier. I wish I didn’t say alot of it. Tomorrow, I will make and eat a good breakfast and begin to exercise, hopefully. Definetly go out for coffee. And back.
If you are reading this then you know you are guilty of this.
If you are too scared to read this then you are in denial.
If this causes you pain/hurt/makes you feel uncomfortable then maybe just maybe I might be saying something that has value and meaning.
There are way tooooooo many people on here that put themselves down
way toooooo often.
Here’s the facts,
you are depressed,
your life sucks,
you cant get a girlfriend/boyfriend
you fill in the blanks.
You know what SO FUCKING WHAT!!!!
Do you have to label yourself as pathetic or useless or ugly or a waste of space or all the other horrible things you say to yourself because your life sucks? Well do you?
Seriously we are all just different, that’s all.
We are sensitive, we feel and hurt more than others and most people just don’t get that or understand that and that is why we feel alone in this world.
We are all beautiful people deep down inside underneath all our crap,
there is a pure soul that just wants to be loved, treasured for our uniqueness,
and most importantly understood for being so different.
Why won’t anybody here realise this?
I have been posting lots of uplifting positive helpful loving compassionate posts to you all and getting hardly any feedback from you.
(those that have I sincerely thank you)
So Why? Isn’t that what you want, someone to help make you feel even just a little better, someone to understand your pain and actually have some compassion for it, someone to accept you for who you are without even knowing you.
Please open your hearts and let some love and pure kindness in to it.
I have plenty to give and this is even when my life is shit, even when I’m falling apart and want my life to end.
I felt this tonight. Recently if anyone noticed I had posted a message on how I was feeling better, well it all went to shit again, but I will never put myself down for it, because I know and believe I am a good person and I’ve just been dealt a tough life, that’s all.
So please everyone, just fucking deal with it and accept the crap without putting yourself down and calling yourself a worthless piece of shit that deserves to die, because I for one don’t believe you are.
I’m actually feeling good about my job interview tomorrow . I have one at top golf . It just opened in my city . And it’s a group interview . You play games with people and have fun so it’s not even like a real interview .
I just get nervous . I feel like if I get this job then I will feel like I have something to do . It will take my mind off things .
So wish me luck tomorow … It’s gonna be a nerve wrecking day . I also have to present my research paper in class .. That’s gonna be even harder . All eyes on me .
I thought I was doing good. I was feeling better for a week but it wasn’t just on my own. I started talking to another girl. She was pretty, and we talked great all week. Sending pics back and forth. I was still keeping my guard up, just incase we stop talking. Well I finally met her in real life a week later and I felt like more of a man again. Like I guess thats what confidence is, feels like.. My two feet on the ground, a skinny regular guy, another person a part of this world. Doesn’t matter if I’m rich or poor, or special. I didn’t feel extra special or anything. But I did feel better, and didn’t let my thoughts run wild. Just incase, well the meet up at starbucks was great, hung out for a couple hours no pressure. Before we left eachother, I asked if she wanted to go out again. A date for dinner. She thanked me. I know I could be just thinking too much into it
I’m (feeling) okay.
Nothing happened, I just feel better.
I go to a psychologist every Tuesday and I guess it helps. I haven’t really told her about my suicidal urges, but I have said that ‘death sometimes crosses my mind,’
I’m moving my stuff around the house because I am making one of the small rooms of the house into my own game-room. Actually doing this is a sign that I’m feeling better.
I’ve still had thoughts of suicide, but not that often very bad ones. I’ve still got all the letters and all the ‘materials’, but I think that if I’d attempt suicide that I’m going to rewrite my letter(s). It’s been months since I’ve wrote them.
The only thing that really makes me feel depressed/desperate/scared is the thing about not being able to see or talk to the two girls that I’m deeply in love with. I just hope it will work out…
I really, really hope everyone on this site is safe. I would very much appreciate it if you guys could comment on this post and tell me how you’re all doing. I hope you’re okay.
*sending you positive energy*
Hold on. Things got better for me all of a sudden, and nothing happened at all, so don’t give up hope.
You’re all great. Thank you.
Thought I was feeling better and maybe I am. But think its time to start coming up with a plan. Because I don’t want another or anything else for that matter in my life anymore. I still feel empty and sad, but I do things. I’m not in bed anymore. I try to move on and see other people, but don’t want to anymore. I fell in love with that girl and thought it was real between the both of us, but it was just me. I relized I fooled myself again or whatever. But also feel ready to go. Lived the best I could leading up until I met her and while I was with her. I don’t think I’m tired anymore of living without her. Maybe I don’t care. I don’t want to do better or just be. Maybe I’ll have the courage to do something else. Because I don’t want to die. But I’m definetly ready.
Hello all. 🙂
I tried to keep this short – and failed. I just needed to rant. Not about anything in particular. I seriously need some sleep, so please forgive any bad writing.
Today I used my wheelchair for the first time. It’s on loan for six weeks. Who knows, maybe in that time I’ll get outside more and it’ll help me start to feel less depressed. I’ve been so much worse lately, and I think spending more time in the house and with relatively little natural light has caused a lot of that.
This evening I went to a local light-themed festival. People make installations, play music and so on around the town. There was a tiny eight-seat solar-powered cinema, and bands playing, all kinds of projections onto buildings and so on.
A couple of hours before we went out, I’d started to get more tired. So I rested for a while. Somehow, while I was resting, the depression suddenly started to feel a lot more severe – maybe because my mind wasn’t particularly engaged anymore. For a while I felt okay, but the suicidal thoughts came again. Even when I controlled my thoughts, I still felt the build up of panic and despair. I still felt really edgy and panicky when we went out. I felt self-conscious in the wheelchair. It feels awkward being so low and moving towards crowds of people, or being tilted backwards to get onto curbs. When I’m already anxious I don’t like attention being drawn to me, which it often was when we were trying to move through the crowded areas. The people I was with also tended to stand behind me by the person pushing, which made it harder to listen to them and distract myself.
I wasn’t confused to the point that I can’t interpret anything I see or understand the things people say, which often happens when there’s noise and lots of people around. I was doing quite well while I was out. That made me feel sick with worry. The things people say, any background noises, are so vague and confusing to me, even when I’m feeling better. The derealisation that goes alongside the depression makes it worse. I don’t usually feel as suicidal when I’m around other people and there are so many things going on, but at some points tonight it was all I could think about.
My mum pushed my chair most of the time. Then one of my mum’s friends carried it up a hill for me while my mum and another friend each took an arm to make the walk easier. Then he offered to push me for a bit. He kept talking to me, and I felt a bit bad because I was so anxious I couldn’t say much back, but slowly it made me feel so much better. He made small, funny comments about the things we were looking at, so I didn’t feel worse trying to follow longer conversations. The words made more sense than usual. I laughed a few times and finally felt some relief. Most of the suicidal thoughts become more vague and eventually left after a while.
The depression is like the confusion though. Even at its best, it’s not something I want to experience. It’s still close to feeling unbearable.
Tomorrow my mum is having a party. She’s been telling me not to move around too much beforehand, and encouraging me to stay seated when I can and rest whenever I start to get ill or tired. She’s been particularly cautious after my last appointment at the ME/CFS clinic made me much more ill for a couple of days afterwards. Hopefully being out tonight won’t leave me worse tomorrow night, especially if I rest in the day.
I’m just tired of this being the best I can hope for or work towards. I feel like death is hanging over me every moment I’m conscious. I don’t want to feel that darkness, that feeling of deterioration, of wasting away into nothing, of emptiness.
Sometimes when I try to pull myself back to the present moment, I can make the derealisation lift. Just gently, for a moment. I can hold the moment so it lingers. I start to see again, almost feel the world around me again. Just vaguely. And it disappears in an instant. Usually I can’t do it repeatedly, and it doesn’t happen every time I practice.
I don’t feel like I can make this work. My depression is still painfully severe, despite being a lot better than it was once was. It’s still debilitating in itself, though I tend to focus now on managing and trying to live with ME. But the depression needs attention too. They both do. I can’t live like this. It feels likely that I’ll wake up one day and find that another several years have passed, without a moment of clarity or happiness.
While I was outside, the idea of recovery started to seem less possible. There are so many moments in the day where all I want is for it to end. I need to look for help again. I don’t know what kind of help I want. I’m torn between several options. My anxiety and confusion usually hold me back – every time I try to think it over, I constantly lose track of my thoughts and end up back at the start again, trying to remember what the options are. My mum is less busy next week, so she said hopefully she’ll have time to look at some ME stuff with me: the alternative treatments I’ve been looking at, one her friend told her about, and starting to get out of the house more often again.
I need a change badly. Every day I try to stop the depression getting too severe, and hold myself back from experiencing the most severe, painful effects from ME. And every day now the suicidal thoughts are overwhelming and often excruciating. All I want is for it to change.
I have so many thoughts I want to write down – fragments of thoughts… That I’m so accustomed to depression, I forget sometimes how severe it is. That I need help. That I don’t often think about the past but I keep wanting to be able to write like I could in the past, without all the difficulties there are now. That I want to move, to see colours again. To understand. I can hardly understand my own words sometimes. Every letter is confusing to me, something I can’t quite process.
That the last time my nephews were here I left the room to lie down and my brother told them I had a headache, though more than anything it was the exhaustion and confusion. And when I came back in, still not feeling well, my nephew handed me a hot water bottle and brought me a huge bowl of popcorn so I didn’t have to get up to get it if I wanted a snack. It almost me cry.
That I used to have a functioning mind. When I was at school I used to be terrible at exams, because my long-term memory was horrific. But I had abilities. My teachers thought I had potential. Once my English teacher gave my granddad her email address, and I never emailed her because I was too ashamed to tell her what happened… I thought all other people would see was that I left everything behind. I couldn’t explain what had happened or why I never went back to school, why for a long time I could hardly leave the house. Things have improved so much, despite the onset of ME, but I can hardly see how sometimes.
That the years get faster as you get older. That every year I want to live or die before my birthday comes around again. There’s no use thinking about the past or future right now, but this moment alone is enough to make me want the quickest end possible.
I feel like I’ve ranted enough now. I knew I wasn’t really well enough to write tonight. It was mentally exhausting and it took me hours, but maybe now I’ll be able to let go of some of those thoughts. I just want the depression to become less severe. This is too much. I can leave behind any painful thoughts I have if I make the effort, but I can’t stop the feelings – the agony or confusion or derealisation or disconnection from loved ones. Hopefully one day I’ll learn.
None of us signed a contract to be born. It was the choice of our parents. In my case, my immature 19 and 21 year old parents choose to have sex without a condom, than decided not to get an abortion when biomom got pregnant. Me, the person effected the most by my parents irresponsible choices, has no choice to opt out of life. At least not the way I want to.
Why does our CULTure and the medical establishment consider it a mental illness to not want to live anymore? they think it’s absolutely nuts not to wanna live in a world were your enslaved by nature and societies rules, delaying the inevitable, with no real freedom. Sad thing is, these Neurochavanist dont even realize how pointless life really is because there brain tricks them into believing that life has value (look up Positive Brain Bias). It’s an evolutionary thing that apparently I live without.
Reminds me of the Soviet Union. When its citizens complained about not wanting to live under communism, they was sent to a psychiatric hospital, often for decades. The Soviet Union would diagnose these people with “sluggish skitsophrenia”, an illness that doesn’t even exist. They thought it was absolutely nuts to not wanna live in a world were your everyday life is controlled by the government. Sound familiar?
Most people are stupid I guess. When I went to the psyche ward last month, it did help me. But the help was only temporary. The feeling better part only lasted for a week or two, then I was thrusted back into reality. While I’ll never attempt suicide again, I would still love to have the option of a peaceful exit handed to me in a controlled environment. I’d take that option (which I don’t consider traditional suicide), unfortunately stupid people run our society which means I do not have the luxury of having that choice.
Funny thing is, the doctors told me if I’m feeling suicidal again, to call 911. Yeah that ain’t gonna happen. I’d call a suicide hotline first or at least have my aunt drive me to the hospital instead of being humiliated by cops and ambulances. Stupid society! Here’s some more random stupidity……
our society calls babies born without brains (just the brain stem), miracles
our society believes in an invisible sky fairy who put us all here to serve him like a slave
our society wants to keep us alive no matter what….even though we are going to die at some point anyway.
What does those 3 examples tell yall about society? Doesn’t that sound nuts to you? We are not crazy, THERE CRAZY!
hey guys i havent posted in a while i thought i was getting my depression under control but this morning it hit me again like a ton of bricks if anyone remembers a while ago i posted a long post and in it i chose a date to hold off until to see if i was feeling better and i was for a month or so but now im not so sure im starting to think all the recent changes in my life just kept my mind to busy to focus on the pain but now that im settling back into a routine my fucked up thoughts are returning i just dont know anymore im starting to think its not worth the fight
This is going to sound insane, like I’ve lost my mind, or like I’m a real idiot or someone who hasn’t been honest here, but I have been.
So I found a place to live for the next 7 months, provided my work keeps up and I can pay for it. I don’t have a bed though, so I’m on the couch. I’d like to be able to have a bed in my own room though.
Anyway, I’ve been through some real hell with the guy I like blowing up at me when I try to talk about how I feel, which is that the terminology he uses dismisses my feelings as not being real. Saying I’m obsessed, and such, that’s a way to write it off and ignore it.
Ok, but anyway, this has been a life long problem for me and it’s only gotten worse really falling so deeply in love… but I’ve wanted nothing more in life than to have my other half, be married, and be loved. I’ve known that’s what I wanted since I was 5. I’m almost 38 and I know it will never happen.
I take my emotions and feelings a seriously because I’m a deep and intense person. Nothing has ever been able to help ease the pain I feel inside. Except this…..
One of my new roommates is a Buddhist and on the day I moved in, he had me meet him at his weekly Buddhist group and all they do is chant for a solid half hour. I felt silly but I tried it and tried to keep up. I don’t believe in anything religious or whatnot, never have, and have always rolled my eyes at people who do believe. I’ve always believed in wish in one hand, shit in the other… you know the rest. Well, crazily enough I have been chanting here and there, maybe a few times, maybe a minute or two, just whenever it strikes me to. I chanted along with a 10 min video on YouTube the 2nd night I was here because the guy I like had been a major asshole to me that day for no fuckin reason. I couldn’t articulate my inner thoughts and I could only get out “fix loneliness” and “end pain” as I chanted. And for whatever unexplainable fuckin’ reason, I have felt better. Yes, it hurts. Yes, it kills me. Yes, I’m still crazy insanely in love with and hot for this guy. He sent me pictures the next day of himself on the bus and he looked so damn good I’d have jumped him and fucked him right there on the bus… I mean god damn he is just s sexy and 1 in a billion gorgeous. He could be the sexiest man alive… I mean, dear god….
But anyway, the point is, I’ve been feeling better. I’ve been looking at some of my roommate’s books… Here’s a little something that might help….
I made a promise to myself (for my family and friends) a long time ago that I wouldn’t kill myself unless I have tried everything I know of to make myself better. I’m surrounded by too many wonderful people that I know would be devastated if I committed suicide. (I know, poor me. I can’t help that the only thing fucked about my life is my own head.)
About 7 weeks ago I had decided to go through with it. I went to grab my car keys and Ayahausca jumped into my head. Fuck! Stupid promise. A few weeks before that my old boss told me about Ayahausca and what it did for his brother who dealt with bad anxiety. So I got in contact with the organizer and started preparing for the treatment. I have nothing to lose.
Before I tell you about my experience, I’ll tell you how it left me feeling. That way you can decide if you want to read all of it (it’s really long).
The afternoon after the last ceremony I was exhausted! Total zombie (you’ll understand why if you read the rest). So I start out by showering, then have a nap…starting to feel a bit more human…have some food…start to smile a bit, then go to bed. The next morning I’m starting to actually be able to interact with others without feeling overwhelmed. By the afternoon I was feeling better than I have in years! I ended up going out for dinner in a busy pub (normally the stimulus would have overwhelmed me) and enjoyed the whole experience. Sat up with my friend (who is actually a tested genius and can be a very intense) and had a blast. My brain was finally working again! For months I could barely follow conversations (normally I’m pretty smart) and I was talking physics with a genius and getting it!!! I felt alive and in control!
I wish I could leave it at that, but I was only able to touch the tip of the iceberg so I still have a ways to go. Not that I’ve completely reverted to where I was before the treatment, but I have some pretty bad days. It’s only been a couple weeks since I did the treatment. My brain is still working, but the depression and anxiety still rears it’s ugly head. I’m now saving up for my next treatment (~$200/night). I’m also gathering the courage to go through it again. I’m not sure why, but I do have a bit of hope that I can actually gain control of the anxiety and depression if I stick with it. I have never had hope with ANY other treatment that I have done.
You have to be off any SSRI’s for 3 – 4 weeks before you can take the medicine. Well, I’d been on them for about 3 years (not sure why, they didn’t do a damn thing for me). The next ceremony was being held in 5 weeks, so I had 1 week to wean myself off the meds. If anyone has ever come off of SSRIs you know that that is not enough time to do it…sanely. Well, it was this or hurt others (me dying) so I jumped in and experienced the most difficult 4 weeks of my life. Thankfully I have a very…patient and caring boyfriend who was willing to take care of me and everything else while I went through it. I was basically bed ridden for 3 weeks – nausea, ridiculously heightened senses, insane headaches, insomnia, severe twitching, non stop crying, etc.
I go into any treatment very skeptical. I don’t want no placebo effect!
I had 6 days of feeling good, better than I had in years. Two days before I was to go for treatment anxiety came back full force. Struggled through that (one breath at a time) and made it there ( I had to borrow money from my mom for the treatment, travel 8 hours, deal with broken down car, etc). Amazingly enough I made it.
Day 1: Arrive about 4 hours before ceremony starts. The ceremony only starts once it’s dark outside. I set up my “area” (thermarest, sleeping bag and pillows), and listened to others talk about their previous times. Lights go out, I drink the medicince and wait. The chanting starts. That night I didn’t really notice anything much, I’m told this is pretty common for the very first time – the medicine is peeling away layers to be able to work. The only thing I really remember, besides a whole bunch of random thoughts, was a flash of this beautiful tiger and the feeling you get when someone you love gives you an awesome hug.
Day 2: I woke up feeling a little hung over with a start of a headache. By early afternoon my headache was pretty bad. I asked if i could take an advil and she said it’s best that i don’t, the shaman will come see me. He worked on me for a few minutes (put his hands on my head and sucked). I was like, this is freaking weird! But, after, my head did feel better. After a couple hours the headache was back and more painful than ever. The shaman told me to wait it out a bit. It became so unbearable that when i went to the bathroom to get more kleenex, I collapsed half way there from the pain. So the shaman helped me again. This time he used perfuma, smoke and spent a long time (~ 1hr) working on my head and stomach. it was very strange. I actually thought I was going to end up with hickies all over my head and stomach, lol! When he was done my head felt a bit better and my stomach way better. They told me to sleep if I can and they will get me before the ceremonies begin. I woke up a couple hours later and felt fantastic!
That night’s experience was different than my first. I felt the buzz, then started getting most of the symptoms that I went through when I was detoxing from the SSRIs, not fun. When the shaman got to me (he goes around and chants to everyone individually) he stayed with me for quite a while. I sat up and let myself be lost in his chanting…and wow. Once I purged (puked – I’ll talk about that in a bit) I felt so light and joyous! I was sitting there dancing with the biggest freakin grin on my face. The rest of the night I just felt amazing!
Purging – one of my biggest fears going into this. I hate puking!! That night I learnt to have a different view of puking, to actually want it (while on the medicine). Puking is so common during the ceremonies that everyone is given their own personal puke bucket before you start. I always viewed puking as your body getting rid of something toxic you ingested…well it wants to get rid of toxic energy (thoughts and feelings) as well.
Day 3 – I woke up feeling fantastic!! I had a great day, talked with many of the others and we shared our experiences. Most were very different than mine. I really didn’t have many thoughts, just went through physical symptoms and feelings. But I could feel the difference, whatever I was going through was making changes.
As most of you know, when you are in a deep depression, you can’t think of the future. The only way I got through those 5 weeks was taking it one second at a time. One second, an hour was too much. This said, I had no idea what I was going to do after the treatment.
The third night was different from the first two. I felt the buzz…but nothing else. All my thoughts were like I just smoked a big duby! I would get half way through a thought and be like, what was I just thinking about. Talk about not being able to work on anything! Even when the shaman was chanting to me, nothing! I was devastated. I just wasted $200 and haven’t a freakin clue as to what to do after I leave. I fell back into a completely hopeless depression. All I was doing was screaming (in my head) “Just give me some hope, some kind of guidance…anything!!!” I finally fell asleep around 5 am.
Day 4 (the day I was to leave the treatment center): At 7 am I wake up feeling like the most hopeless, beat up, drained individual that has ever existed. Since no one is awake I head out to the river and sit there rocking back and forth, crying for hours. People started coming outside and would ask if I’m ok. All I could do was say no and keep rocking. A couple of them said I should talk to the shaman. By 11am I was so numb – total zombie from the intense emotional drain, the exhaustion from crying and having barely any sleep. I still haven’t had a chance to talk to the shaman because everybody else is. It was noon before I finally ask him to talk to me outside. I told him that I couldn’t leave. I did not trust myself to get into my car (I refuse to commit suicide in a fashion that could harm others – besides pain from the loss), I couldn’t function and I had no idea what my next step was. He did a personalized treatment (sucking my brain and using my name). I don’t understand how, but in a few minutes I was starting to feel more stable and able to function. He explained to me that the medicine was still working (it works by putting you through what you are working on) and was stuck above my right eye. What he did was take the rest of the medicine out.
I got in my car, push started it as the starter went on my way there, and continued my trip!
At this point I was so confused and had no idea if everything I just went through in the last 5 weeks had done me any good. I’m still not positive, but I think another 3 day treatment will be able to convince me in one direction or the other.
This is a recap of what I think happened during my treatment:
Night 1 – peeled away layers in order to do work
Night 2 – Dealt with the horrors of what the SSRI withdrawals put me through.
Night 3 – Touched on dealing with depression.
So, not a quick fix. But I have to say that I think the hope comes from the fact that even when depression and anxiety are still rearing it’s ugly heads I have this sense that I’m a bit stronger than I was and that I have a tiny bit more control. I also seem to not stay as deep for as long.
I guess in the end I did get what I was seeking. I was seeking hope. It’s not strong, but it’s there. That’s more than I could have said 7 weeks ago.
P.S. I have never written anything so long for others to read (except in school), so I hope it reads well and someone gets something out of it.
Almost to day 3 of no eating. Though I may be shaky and dizzy I’m feeling better and better about myself. I can actually say I’m a little happier
It’s a bit hard for me to put so much pain into words. But I’ll do the best I can to explain it.
I am not a strong person. I was never a strong person. And by many accounts, I have no right to complain about my lot in life. I’ve traveled to many places, never been physically abused, and I’ve had many things provided for me. I have a roof over my head, and a pantry full of food. My own bedroom to hide away and enough toys to drown my boredom. The simple distractions may work for a time but when you stop feeling, nothing matters. Poison is still poison. No matter how much sugar you add to it.
I am the youngest in my family and typically, that means you’re babied. I was restricted. I wasn’t allowed to make friends with the ‘weird’ kids. I had to eat the same lunch every day. I wasn’t allowed to fail any tests. I wasn’t allowed to have special lessons in anything outside of school. I was to listen to my mother and do what she told me. A lot of this made me shy away from the other kids. I was stuck in the outcast group where no one wanted to talk to one another. My mother was the decider in my life.
You might not even blame her for the early days. I had been very sick as an infant, almost succumbing to a severe lung infection. But I lived, escaping with only some breathing difficulties. I can’t stay outside for very long. Regardless of the season. Summer, spring and fall bring plant pollens, seeds and decaying plant matter that irritate my airways almost instantly upon stepping outside. In winter, it’s not too bad. But if the air gets too cold, I can’t stop the coughing. Staying inside as much as I could wasn’t too much of a problem though. Since I had very few friends and didn’t like socializing. Lunch was hard. I know I was lucky to have gotten a lunch at all every day. But to have to eat the exact same thing, I’d rather not eat at all, Which I often did. A Ham sandwich with lettuce and mustard, a yogurt, a juicebox, a cheese string, and some fishy crackers. Not a bad lunch. But for every single day. Every week. Every month. Every year. That is what I had to eat. I started throwing out food around grade five when my mother wouldn’t listen to me asking for a change. That combination became sickening to me. I would become physically ill if I attempted to eat anything from my lunch. To this day, I still can’t stomach it. This is where I learned how to lie, and how to starve.
School became harder and harder for me. Becoming friends with the kids my mother approved of, then having to deal with them ‘ditching’ me days later. I was a weird person that nobody wanted to be seen with. My grades dropped, and so did what little self-esteem I had left. I barely scraped by with passing marks. She was furious. “Why did you fail this?” “You told me you knew what you were doing!” “Why wont you pass anything?” “Why don’t you know anything?” “Why are you being stupid?” Both of my older sisters had been at the top of their grades in school. She couldn’t comprehend the possibility that I’d be different. To her, I was doing it on purpose. So, in order to save myself the beating of her voice, I lied. I cheated and lied my way to better grades. Whatever it took, if i couldn’t do it the proper way, I’d find another way.
The lies grew more and more intricate. I had to tread lightly not to upturn any truths by accident. Like painting a pile of gravel. I got quite good at it. Towards the end of grade school, I had my mother believing I was friends with all the popular girls. That my grades were the best in the class. That I wasn’t miserable every time I had to go home. I was feeling better. Despite all this, a part of me had not changed. It was the part that I had been taught from the very start. Doesn’t matter how, just do as mother says.
Years dragged by, and during the time where most people grew into independent human beings, I was still having my strings tugged along. I had been perfectly conditioned to require her approval. I was her very own puppet. Nothing I did happened unless she said it was okay. I would stop talking to my closest friends if she told me she didn’t like them. Feelings were a bad thing too. I live in a very crude household, with many unspoken rules. Swearing was okay, but you’re not allowed to complain about something you don’t like. If someone interrupted you, you weren’t allowed to say anything about it. That one in particular was put into place for a very specific reason. If mother didn’t like what you were saying, she’d then decide on something better to talk about. I created a few ways to get by this, the easiest being to lie. Just tell her what she wants to hear. Nothing else mattered. Life wasn’t good unless she was happy.
The slight positive notes that came from all this is that I could no longer cheat my grades. But having no friends or things to distract me from school, my grades skyrocketed. I made the honor list in all four years of high school. I became drunk off of the praise that I got from my mother. That’s all I wanted. But like most drugs, the effects slowly faded. until it was back to simply being expected to be perfect. “Oh, you got a 90? Okay.” No more praise. But my fear of failure was enough to keep me from it ever again. I also met the one true friend who has, and who will stick by me for the rest of my life. She understood what I was going through, and has been my rock on many occasions. I owe my life to her. For without her, I’d have never made it through high school. Unfortunately, my mother hated her. She was a lesbian and to my mothers’ eyes, ‘fat.’ Therefore she was a bad person. Her friendship meant too much to me to give up easily, and was the first thing in my life that I fought for against my mothers’ wishes.
Dating wasn’t even an option for me. When I thought I had found someone I could trust, her disapproval was an instant rejection. I remember feeling so excited, jumping into the car after giving him a hug goodbye, and then; “Who’s that boy?” “Just a guy.” “He looks ugly. Is that a game-thing on his bag? So he’s one of those weird people who spends all their time playing video games. he’s going to live in his parents basement for the rest of his life.” After that, I just didn’t talk to boys anymore. The depression that hit me when she said that dragged me down for two months. It wasn’t worth the risk again. I would try again later, long after I graduated. But they always felt empty and pointless. No one knew how to deal with my depression, or even accept it as part of me. I’ve often thought that my problem might be with gender. I’ve found girls attractive before, but both my mother and father have ripped that option to pieces. “If you ever bring home a girlfriend, I’ll take you out behind the shed and beat you straight.” I believe my father meant every word. I’ve never dated a girl before, nor do I even know if that is who I am. It’s just another thing that was decided for me.
But the lack of control was getting to me. I began to go days without eating, for the simple reason that it was all I could do for myself. I lived mostly off of energy drinks and caffeine shots. Looking back now, the most disgusting part was my mothers’ approval of my dangerous weight loss. Fat people were bad. To be skinny meant that you were better than them. To her, that was the most important part of life. Putting yourself on a pedestal to glare down at ‘other people.’ During my darkest months, my teachers’ concern had peaked, and they began calling home to try and inform my mother of what was happening. This scared me. If she found out, it would be my fault. So I began eating as unhealthy as I could to gain the weight back. Most of the time, I’d just end up puking my guts out. But eventually, the teachers stopped trying to call my house.
After graduation, I was presented with a whole other problem. Choice. Suddenly, it was up to me to decide what to do from then. But I had no idea how to. I tried to go back to school for another year to upgrade my english level. But changed my mind and only went for one semester. For almost a year I sat around and did nothing. I had been raised to only act if someone told me to, and doing otherwise would result in some kinds of suffering. If no one told me to act, I couldn’t do anything. I tried going to college, but dropped out. I tried getting a job at a fast-food place, but got fired after two years so they wouldn’t have to up my benefits. Tried to get my licence, but failed my G test and had to start over from the beginning.
I am currently working full-time at a department store. I still live at home, having no where near enough money to move out. I’m being constantly reminded by my mother and father that I am a useless burden. That I’m nothing but a failure at everything I do. I don’t have enough money to go back to college either, so I’m more or less stuck here, for who knows how long. While my mother hits daily records for all time lows.
She often complains that I don’t do enough around the house. While she spends all of her time on the couch on her iphone, ipod, or ipad. She doesn’t like it when I try to spend money on something for myself. Her purchases from the last two months include a $4,000 purse, $500 on iTunes cards, and $100 on a mystery thing from Great Britain. She likes to criticize the people she sees on T.V who’ve been scammed by men online posing as boyfriends. The mystery thing from Great Britain being the stranger she met on her god damn dice game. While my father sits on the chair across from her, she sits and flirts with some random online fuck. She’s quick to make a sharp remark about me dropping out of college, when she never graduated high school. She praises gay rights and talks about how much of a supporter she is. She had a panic attack and said that I was going to contract aids from my bisexual boyfriend (Former, and the last time I’ll ever bother to attempt.). At least my father is straight forward about how much of a homophobe he is. She’s literally the worst kinds of people all rolled into one overweight over critical mess. In her eyes, she can do no wrong, nothing is ever her fault. Even if she’s doing the very things that she’s constantly judging other people for. That is the woman who raised me. At this point in my life, I am beyond loathing. I feel nothing for her but disgust, and often wish for her end.
I don’t know how much of all this I have managed to get across. The scale of the damage done is unmeasurable. I’m incapable of feeling trust for anyone. I lie constantly to almost everyone I meet. I can’t feel excitement or joy, I’m lucky if I feel anything these days. I’ve spent a lifetime of shutting out my emotions having been told they were wrong. I have no self-esteem, I can’t even defend myself when criticized. I’ll break down at even the slightest of failures. Larger ones with bigger consequences driving me into further depression for weeks. I feel like I’m incapable of breaking away and doing things on my own because I’ve been trained not to. Even though I WANT to and know that it would be better for me to. She’s fashioned a chain around my neck holding a weight above my head. I could pull loose, while risking the crushing weight, or sit quietly and choke to death.
Before you judge me for being selfish or spoilt, please remember that you shouldn’t have to pay for such things with your mental health. You can mix sugar with cyanide, but that won’t make it any less harmful. Some people out there are capable of taking much larger doses, some are not.
I have been depressed most of my life my first suicide was drinking 1lt of disinfectant at 8 years old and countless other poisonings. But recently i have started trying antidepressants but the doses have little effect. I’ve had up to 900g of venlafaxine a day for a few days now with 4g of risperidone with it and if I feel anxious or an attack is coming I can use quetiapine and with weed I am finally feeling better. There’s no confusion, rapid heart rate, sweating nor is there a high. I feel fine til it wears off