I hate my life. There, I said it. I know I’m too old to sound like a bratty teenage drama queen but I can’t help it. All that think positive stuff does not work on me. There are too many things on my mind for me to just brush off. I have tried my best to look for solutions but I am just not strong enough to do everything by myself. I’ve been battling with depression since I was 11 eleven years old and I try to be strong but sometimes it is just too hard. I’ve always been an odd kid but I always figured (hoped?) that everything will be okay when I get older. I get sad whenever I remember that kid because not only is everything not okay, things are infinitely worse. And I am tired. I’ve been threatening suicide since I was 13 and I hate the fact that that feeling, that urge, that desire, that wish, to off myself never went away. I can distract myself, - school, trying to live a normal life- and I momentarily forget but it all comes back inevitably. I hate the fact that no one freaked out over this. I hate the fact that my family just accepted my moods as being part of my weirdness. I hate the fact that no one bothered to find out if there was something wrong with me. Because there was something wrong with. I’d always known it but didn’t know what it is. I hate the fact that I’m the one who had to look for answers, the one who discovered that I am mentally ill. Nobody realized how scary that was. I was barely a teenager and already I was contemplating whether I should be chucked into a mental asylum - that place that everybody mocks. I hate the fact that the best my family did was to try to have me surrounded by people - normal people, as if hoping that their normalcy would rub off on me. It never helped. If anything it made me want retreat into myself even more. I hate that I have no idea what everybody was talking about and I can’t make them understand me.
I hate the fact that I had to bear everything by myself for years. I tried to hide everything and tried to live normally because of what that doctor did. I hate the fact that when they finally took me to a doctor, they brought me to one who made me feel worse about myself. It’s been years but I still haven’t forgotten, haven’t forgiven what that doctor made me feel. I was ready to heal, to move forward and yet she created new wounds that I had never been able to live down. I spent years falling even deeper into a pit of despair instead of improving because she said everything was my fault and that I am hurting my parents because of my antics. I made my parents spend money on something I thought was helping me but instead turned out to be something I’d regret. I hate it so much.
It’s been years now, and even though I met some people who convinced me that not every doctor was like her and that I should go back and get therapy, that reluctance never really left. There’s also the fact that most of the good ones cost a lot of money and therapy can take up yeeeeaaaars. My family can barely afford to make ends meet, I can’t stomach asking anyone to foot my medical bill. I’ve been thinking of getting a job but even thinking of it triggers anxieties and I can’t do anything. There are cheaper doctors but I tend to question their skill since a lot of them are still learning and these things usually take place in unsecure locations, and I have difficulty talking in places where I can be overheard. I hate having to depend on expensive medication. I’m not even sure if it works and I hate the fact that my mom thinks that everything would be fine as long as I take the damn thing. And I hate that through all of this, I still feel cut off from everyone. Fuck it! I really try to be positive but often I wonder if it’s really worth staying around and breathing air. I really don’t feel like I can be a part of any of this. It’s like in Facebook where I’m “connected” to everyone I know (and to some people I don’t know) but still, I read my wall and I’m like WTF everytime. I just can’t understand anybody and even though a lot of them know my condition and claim they understand, they really don’t. It’s like there’s also be a wall that separates me from everyone. I could try to change, to be more like them, but frankly, I’m tired of trying to change who I am just so I could fit in with people. I’ve learned to accept who I am and fuck it if people don’t like it. In fact, I think it’s for that reason that I stopped going to this doctor that I’d been seeing. He said I’ve been doing okay since our sessions began, only a few more and I’d be back to normal again. I can’t explain it but what he said freaked me out. What did he mean by “normal”? I had never been normal in my life, I don’t want to be normal. I can’t explain it, but I didn’t feel like going back after hearing that.
That was probably a bad decision on my part but I don’t know. I wasn’t comfortable with him. I don’t think he gets me. It’s probably my fault. I’m way too picky. I probably wouldn’t be if I hadn’t encountered that woman as my first doctor. I’ve always had trouble trusting people with my secrets but because of her I’ve been even more wary of therapists. I don’t know if there’s a phobia for them but I think I’d rather avoid them if I could even though though I know I have to get help if I want to get better. That’s probably why I shifted to my course. I don’t know if I could ever be a psychologist, I’m way too fucked up to help other people in need, but I think I wanted to study it so I could help myself. To understand myself better and to help get rid of my anxiety in going to a therapist. It’s just shitty that I had to have another episode in the middle of a semester. It sounds really lame but the stress was unbelievable and I’m having issues with people in my life at the same time…
I don’t even know if I’m doing the right thing. I don’t know if I could finish. I will probably pursue Psychology to the end because it’s my third course already but I have no idea what I’m doing. Even if my folks could afford sending me back to school I don’t know if I’m ready to go back. The thought of facing people again terrifies me. Shit, everyone’s nice to me but I can’t be around people. I’m more prone to depression when I’m surrounded by people than when I’m by myself and I hate myself for it. Not that I never get lonely when I’m alone. I do, but I can usually manage to shake it off faster than when I’m with people because there’s also anger there. Anger that there’s always a wall or barrier around myself that makes socializing weird for me. By myself I could find distractions from my misery. Sometimes they work. Sometimes they don’t. Whenever that happens is not a good time for me. There are hotlines available for me to call up but, I’ve never been a phone person so that’s always been a problem for me and besides most of those hotlines are run by religious organizations and well, even though I’m not very religious I tried seeking help from one of those groups once… I’m never doing so again. I prefer professionally trained counselors. So I go online. They all say the same thing. Seek professional help. And we’re back to square one. I try to go to a suicide prevention site but most of the sites devoted to depression/crisis/suicide are US-run. How come there isn’t one in this country? If I had my way, I’d make my own site based here. I can’t run it on my own though. I need other trained professionals to dispense help and guidance. That’s probably my goal now. I had a similar goal when I was 16 to found a shelter/center for depressed teenagers. Why? Because I spent time just wandering around (like Holden Caulfield) being confused, thinking of stepping in front of an oncoming bus and wishing there was a place I could go where people could help me understand. I still want that to happen by the way, it’s just more difficult to accomplish because you have to have a lot of money for that thing. Making a site seems more realistic and attainable. I just wish I could make it happen instead of dreaming of it.
