It’s difficult for me to even begin this post, as there is so much necessary information to take in before anyone can begin to assist me. Well, I’ve been dealing with depression and anxiety issues since I was about
17 (I’m now 28). I had minimal experience with these issues in high school and prior (I am a gay man who grew up in a very small town and was made to feel unwelcome by my peers, to put it politely) but it was in college, after I had first fallen in love and begun a relationship with my first boyfriend that I started dealing with these issues in a serious way.
We had been together a year or two when he chose to study abroad in Greece. I became very depressed for the 6 months he was away and eventually, upon his return, we broke up. It was around this time I experienced my first severe panic attack. I was working at a boarding school with my best friend and I froze locked in my car, literally, it was my first panic attack and it was one of those ones where your limbs become numb and you are temporarily paralyzed (this would eventually become a common experience for me). Needless to say, my friend was very afraid. Banging on the door begging me to
open it as I sat there unable to move my arms and legs.
So, then I started going to therapy and began a long endeavor with various medications. Well, fast forward a bit… in the meantime I had begun and ended a few unimportant romantic relationships as well as one important, long term, abusive one. It was also at this time that, after telling a “friend” about
my depression and, unbeknownst to me, him calling the police for fear of my safety to myself, I was swarmed by about
15 cop cars on the highway, handcuffed with a gun to my temple, taken to a psychiatric hospital, told I was free to go after a brief evaluation, then tricked into being locked away after I agreed to be assisted in finding a new therapist. That’s a tale for another time but in the end the head doctor at the hospital apologized, as this was clearly a miscommunication on their part, and I was indeed not meant to have experienced it. Anyway, I eventually dropped out of my enrollment at university due to my health issues and was put on indefinite medical leave.
So… then I ended up moving to New York City, where I would stay for nearly the following decade. What happens here is where the story of my life and anxiety/depression really begins. My best friend (who was outside the car during my first panic attack) moved across the street from me, I met a guy and he moved in to my apartment and we started a life/family together, we got a dog, etc etc. But this guy took advantage of me and, in the end, was just using me for money/shelter/status/whatever, so… it gets trickier here for me to be succinct about
what happened. Anyway, my best friend, who was my best friend my whole life, literally from about
the age of 7, died in a car accident on thanksgiving. We had spent every day together for nearly my entire life, we went to primary school/high school together, we grew up in our hometown together, we followed each other to the same college (and even secretly lived together on campus), and then eventually… moved to new york together. Ok, so she died in this car accident, but prior to that my health had begun failing.
I was in a very bad place for some months prior. My boyfriend wasn’t treating me well, and it was in 2008… so I had been laid off from my job TWICE, by my bosses at this very small furniture company on the upper east side, who also treated me very poorly and made me feel bad about
myself physically and mentally on a regular basis. It was a very toxic work environment and eventually… all 4 of the employees they had left because of how terrible they were as human beings (and bosses). Anyway, so I had begun staying in a lot more and it was difficult for me to live a normal functioning life.
I started going to therapy more regularly again and began trying lots of different medications. My friend was very supportive and tried her best to keep me afloat. So, my friend dies and then after she dies my boyfriend basically immediately leaves me for another man (literally, about
a week had passed), and all of my other close friends (of which I had about
2) refused to speak to me (I to this day don't fully understand why, but I can only assume they didn't know what to do with me in the wake of her death so they just cut me off instead of figuring it out) and I was left all alone.
But I still had my dog, that I had gotten with my boyfriend, for companionship as I dealt with my new life. But… then on the one year anniversary of my friends death, I asked him to watch the dog so I could be with my dead friend’s family (we were still attempting to co-parent) and he flew the dog across the country and gave it away without my knowledge. SO, ok… so then crap got really serious and I became severely agoraphobic and anxious, I couldn’t travel more than a few feet out of my apartment door, and if I did I’d vomit, or crap myself, I could barely make it to the doctor across the street on my own. So then I encountered a series of terrible doctors who in the end had me on about
20MG of xanax a day, as well as a number of anti-psychotics, tranquilizers, mood-stabilizers, etc etc. I’m not even doing justice to how much medication I was being told to take, this was literally one of those park avenue michael jackson doctor situations. So, I gain about
60 pounds, I lose all my friends and loved ones, including my dog, and my depression reaches its deepest level of severity. I eventually wean myself off of all the medication (as the doctors were unwilling to assist me) and I get fit, begin exercising every day, eating well, trying to be more active and useful. I create some important work (I’m an artist) and book some shows, and try to start being more social.
I have been clear of all pharmaceuticals for a few years now and I'm feeling more stable and healthy than ever. So, I just moved out of my home in NYC that I shared with this terrible ex boyfriend and where my best friend had been living across the street at the time of her death. I am staying somewhere else now, until I can figure out what to do next. But my depression has gotten very bad again. I continue to be confused as to why no one seems to love me. I truly try my best to be kind, loving, and fun, as I know my depression isn’t something people like to encounter (my boyfriend who stole my dog used to say, “If you’re going to be sad then be sad by your ****ing self”) I know that people don’t like to be around people who have suffered loss by death, as it makes a lot of them uncomfortable, but I really don’t let many people know about
all of this. I just don’t understand why people find it so easy to forget about
me, or to disregard me as a being with feelings. I… wish only to love the people that I love and it seems as though no one is ever interested in loving me in return. I have dealt with people cutting me off for seemingly no reason many times. It just happened again, honestly, with no warning, a friend of mine (one of the few I've been able to make since my life took that terrible turn) just stopped wanting to know me and as such has ignored all of my attempts to contact him. I know this is a lot to take in, a lot to read… and chances are most of you won’t get to this sentence. But if you do, thank you. I really appreciate the time you took to hear some of my story, and I’d really like to hear your thoughts on any of this. I know it’s complicated, but I honestly just want to know why I feel so unworthy of love and companionship. Maybe one of you will know.
Post Edited By Moderator (getting by) : 12/30/2015 2:36:14 AM (GMT-7)