I'm not even sure where to begin.
Over the summer, I was going to a therapist. He said he felt that I had a type of depression that didn't need to be medicated, as well as anxiety. I always felt great after our appointments, until the fourth and final time I saw him. He took me to a different room, he was short with me, he laughed at some things I said (and I wasn't trying to be funny), told me I should join the air force or marine corps, and to lie of my resume and applications for jobs. It almost felt like my heart had been broken, leaving his office after he made it clear that he had given up on me.
It made me feel like my mother was right all along--there was nothing wrong with me, I was just being shitty just because. I had no reason to be depressed or anxious, I'm just wasting everyone's time. But at the same time, it just made me hurt more, because I knew how I felt, I live it every day and have since I was in my teens. I'm 22 now. All of my life I never felt like my mother loved me. She took care of my sis and I, we had food, clothes, a nice home, anything we ever needed or wanted. But she was never there for me, never supportive, and it was kind of like she never really saw us as people. She's said a lot of mean things over the years, things I still think about often, and hurt just as much as it did when she said them. However, quite recently, she gave me the chance to open up and she made the effort to understand me. I felt great after our talk that day, and I wish it lasted. I got from her what I never got but always wanted. It took 22 years, but it happened. For the first time in a long time, I actually felt like a human and not a piece of shit.
My dad is out of the picture. Good riddance. He's a horrible person, verbally abusive, physically abusive to his two new children, and he and I have gotten physical over the way he was treating his family. And he raped at least two of his brother's dogs. Yes, you read that right. And I can't be for sure, and I don't wanna bring it up to my mom, but after piecing things together over the years, I think he molested me as a small child. I'm not even sure if I wanna know. I don't feel fucked up about it, but it does make me sick, and I could see that being the reason for a few behaviors I have and have had (hyper-sexual in childhood, uncomfortable with some physical contact as an adult) I'm no expert though. Idk.
I live with my boyfriend. The first four months with him were great, but then his true colors showed. I literally don't have the mental energy to explain this one, so I'll keep it short and sweet. He's a narcissist, he gaslights me, he's cocky, unsupportive and I just...fucking can't. I've been with him for three years, but I can't leave him. My mom won't let me come back to live with her, and I just can't leave. Which brings me to my next problem...
I can't hold down a job. At first, it's always easy to get up and go to work. But not long after I start, once the freshness of it wears off, all those negative feelings start to follow me to work. The days just get harder, waking up feeling unbearably sick, my motivation flying out the window, I lose confidence in my ability, and then stress about my performance, which only makes it worse. Even the jobs I loved and were great at were no match for the shit in my head and the pain it caused me. For the longest time, it was like no one could understand why I was in and out of work all the time. Literally everyone in my life apart from one or two people just assumed I was being lazy, and they all made sure to tell me that, in a not so constructive way. It's like I matter less as a person if I dont make money. That's a painful feeling. My boyfriend is bad about putting me down for it. He says that other people have depression and anxiety and they get along just fine working. Trust me, I'm glad those people can still function, even though they're dealing with shit. And I wish I was one of those people. He doesn't seem to understand that everyone feels things differently. I understand his frustration, however I don't feel the least bit bad about it for his sake. I know that sounds shitty, but he really is shittier. I'm under a lot of pressure to start working again, but just thinking about even applying spikes my anxiety. Like I'm afraid to go do it all again, I'm afraid I'll just fuck it up again. Which is why I've been trying to get medicated to help me manage and function like an adult should function, but yeah...that hasn't been going well.
I also struggle to keep the apartment I live in clean. Again, I'm just being "lazy". I don't like living in an incredibly messy house, I don't like slumping around all day, hurting and numb at the same time, worried but not caring, afraid, alone, all that rotten stuff, but the way it seems everyone sees it is I'm trash who lives in trash. They just don't fucking get it. And living in this shithole, we also have cockroaches, and bed bugs, which we can't afford to take care of with a heat treatment. Even when I do manage to get this place clean, it doesn't really feel clean. I don't feel clean, ever. Unless I take a shower and leave the house immediately and not sit anywhere or touch anything. And that's if I leave the house. Being in vehicles makes my anxiety worse at some point, every single time. Going outside where my neighbors may talk to me? No way. Going into the store? Forget about it.
I think about suicide a lot. I always said I was afraid that it wouldn't scare me one day. I'm not planning anything, but the fear factor of dying certainly isn't in me anymore.
Luckily, I have two amazing friends. One of them is going through his own mental illness trouble, so he understands me better than anyone. He's such a sweet person, and I hate that he's dealing with his own version of the same battle, but I'm very glad I have him. We understand each other with a lot of things, and in a world when no one else does, it's life saving. However, I don't really like talking to him about that kinda thing anymore. It's complicated.
The other friend hasn't dealt with anything like this, but he's very considerate and tries his best to understand me. But tonight, I made the comment that I had suicidal thoughts, and he scoffs and says, you do not! That kind of hurt my feelings, because I've talked to him about it before, I've talked to him about everything before, but when I heard those words escape his mouth, my heart just sank. I felt invalidated, hurt, and like the world's biggest idiot for trusting him so much just for him to go and tell me I don't feel what I feel. I can't stand that. I went to the bathroom and cried, and kind of decided that I wasn't going to talk about this shit to him anymore, too...
I also have PCOS, which I was diagnosed with when I was 15, but only recently discovered all the other ways it can mess with your health, mental health included. Apart from the hormonal imbalance being the possible cause for all my shit, the result of that imbalance does it's fair share of torment to me physically as well. Long sap story a smidge shorter, I could grow a beard if I wanted to. But I don't want to, so I have to shave every day, sometimes twice. Which isn't as much of a problem for me as it used to be, but I'm still extremely self conscious of it, as well as the rest of me.
Idk. I just feel like I'm losing my mind.
Sorry for the long ass post, for whoever, if anyone, decided to read it. But thank you if you did.
I'm not even sure where to begin.Over the summer, I was going to a therapist. He said he felt that I had a type of depression that didn't need to be medicated, as well as anxiety. I always felt great after our appointments, until the fourth and final time I saw him. He took me to a different room, he was short with me, he laughed at some things I said (and I wasn't trying to be funny), told me I should join the air force or marine corps, and to lie of my resume and applications for jobs. It almost felt like my heart had been broken, leaving his office after he made it clear that he had given up on me.It made me feel like my mother was right all along--there was nothing wrong with me, I was just being shitty just because. I had no reason to be depressed or anxious, I'm just wasting everyone's time. But at the same time, it just made me hurt more, because I knew how I felt, I live it every day and have since I was in my teens. I'm 22 now. All of my life I never felt like my mother loved me. She took care of my sis and I, we had food, clothes, a nice home, anything we ever needed or wanted. But she was never there for me, never supportive, and it was kind of like she never really saw us as people. She's said a lot of mean things over the years, things I still think about often, and hurt just as much as it did when she said them. However, quite recently, she gave me the chance to open up and she made the effort to understand me. I felt great after our talk that day, and I wish it lasted. I got from her what I never got but always wanted. It took 22 years, but it happened. For the first time in a long time, I actually felt like a human and not a piece of shit.My dad is out of the picture. Good riddance. He's a horrible person, verbally abusive, physically abusive to his two new children, and he and I have gotten physical over the way he was treating his family. And he raped at least two of his brother's dogs. Yes, you read that right. And I can't be for sure, and I don't wanna bring it up to my mom, but after piecing things together over the years, I think he molested me as a small child. I'm not even sure if I wanna know. I don't feel fucked up about it, but it does make me sick, and I could see that being the reason for a few behaviors I have and have had (hyper-sexual in childhood, uncomfortable with some physical contact as an adult) I'm no expert though. Idk.I live with my boyfriend. The first four months with him were great, but then his true colors showed. I literally don't have the mental energy to explain this one, so I'll keep it short and sweet. He's a narcissist, he gaslights me, he's cocky, unsupportive and I just...fucking can't. I've been with him for three years, but I can't leave him. My mom won't let me come back to live with her, and I just can't leave. Which brings me to my next problem...I can't hold down a job. At first, it's always easy to get up and go to work. But not long after I start, once the freshness of it wears off, all those negative feelings start to follow me to work. The days just get harder, waking up feeling unbearably sick, my motivation flying out the window, I lose confidence in my ability, and then stress about my performance, which only makes it worse. Even the jobs I loved and were great at were no match for the shit in my head and the pain it caused me. For the longest time, it was like no one could understand why I was in and out of work all the time. Literally everyone in my life apart from one or two people just assumed I was being lazy, and they all made sure to tell me that, in a not so constructive way. It's like I matter less as a person if I dont make money. That's a painful feeling. My boyfriend is bad about putting me down for it. He says that other people have depression and anxiety and they get along just fine working. Trust me, I'm glad those people can still function, even though they're dealing with shit. And I wish I was one of those people. He doesn't seem to understand that everyone feels things differently. I understand his frustration, however I don't feel the least bit bad about it for his sake. I know that sounds shitty, but he really is shittier. I'm under a lot of pressure to start working again, but just thinking about even applying spikes my anxiety. Like I'm afraid to go do it all again, I'm afraid I'll just fuck it up again. Which is why I've been trying to get medicated to help me manage and function like an adult should function, but yeah...that hasn't been going well.I also struggle to keep the apartment I live in clean. Again, I'm just being "lazy". I don't like living in an incredibly messy house, I don't like slumping around all day, hurting and numb at the same time, worried but not caring, afraid, alone, all that rotten stuff, but the way it seems everyone sees it is I'm trash who lives in trash. They just don't fucking get it. And living in this shithole, we also have cockroaches, and bed bugs, which we can't afford to take care of with a heat treatment. Even when I do manage to get this place clean, it doesn't really feel clean. I don't feel clean, ever. Unless I take a shower and leave the house immediately and not sit anywhere or touch anything. And that's if I leave the house. Being in vehicles makes my anxiety worse at some point, every single time. Going outside where my neighbors may talk to me? No way. Going into the store? Forget about it.I think about suicide a lot. I always said I was afraid that it wouldn't scare me one day. I'm not planning anything, but the fear factor of dying certainly isn't in me anymore.Luckily, I have two amazing friends. One of them is going through his own mental illness trouble, so he understands me better than anyone. He's such a sweet person, and I hate that he's dealing with his own version of the same battle, but I'm very glad I have him. We understand each other with a lot of things, and in a world when no one else does, it's life saving. However, I don't really like talking to him about that kinda thing anymore. It's complicated.The other friend hasn't dealt with anything like this, but he's very considerate and tries his best to understand me. But tonight, I made the comment that I had suicidal thoughts, and he scoffs and says, you do not! That kind of hurt my feelings, because I've talked to him about it before, I've talked to him about everything before, but when I heard those words escape his mouth, my heart just sank. I felt invalidated, hurt, and like the world's biggest idiot for trusting him so much just for him to go and tell me I don't feel what I feel. I can't stand that. I went to the bathroom and cried, and kind of decided that I wasn't going to talk about this shit to him anymore, too...I also have PCOS, which I was diagnosed with when I was 15, but only recently discovered all the other ways it can mess with your health, mental health included. Apart from the hormonal imbalance being the possible cause for all my shit, the result of that imbalance does it's fair share of torment to me physically as well. Long sap story a smidge shorter, I could grow a beard if I wanted to. But I don't want to, so I have to shave every day, sometimes twice. Which isn't as much of a problem for me as it used to be, but I'm still extremely self conscious of it, as well as the rest of me.Idk. I just feel like I'm losing my mind.Sorry for the long ass post, for whoever, if anyone, decided to read it. But thank you if you did. https://ift.tt/eA8V8J https://ift.tt/2tEBHwF
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