I'm even more fucked up than I thought. I can't even come to a support forum for support. The people here think I'm toxic or destructive or hopeless or scary or whatever. It's funny, they all think I should be taking medication that makes me feel like a zombie who wouldn't shed a tear if my own mother was brutally slaughtered right in front of me, and somehow that's "normal"? Right, cause it's normal to not cry when something bad happens to you... at least that's what they want me to believe. My whole life has been one bad thing after another, and yet somehow, people expect me to be happy. They think that my alcohol use is to blame for my depression - really? I've been suicidal since the age of 12. I didn't start drinking until I was 16. I quit all drugs and alcohol at the age of 23. I went 7 years drug and alcohol free, and my life didn't get better. I still wanted to kill myself. I cry more when I'm sober than I do when I'm drunk. Alcohol doesn't make me numb. It just makes my shitty life slightly more bearable. I'm not "clinically depressed". If anything, I have a mild form of Asperger's. "High functioning" autism. I'm mad and sad about the fact that I can't make and maintain normal relationships with other people. Does that make me crazy? Is it really that fucking odd to be upset over the fact that I don't have any friends and I can't find a girlfriend? Of course I'm upset. Goddammit, you would be upset too if you were in my shoes. Scientists have proven that human beings require both physical and social interaction in order to feel happy and normal. I'm in permanent "fight or flight" mode with zero, and I mean zero love, "cuddle" or relaxation mode. Quit treating me like it's abnormal for me to be unhappy about the fact that nobody likes me. You would be sad too if nobody liked you. You people with your friends and family and loved ones. Why don't you try living alone, and I mean completely alone, no friends, no family, no one coming to visit you, ever. Then maybe throw in a dash of child abuse in your history, and maybe have the love of your life die of a terminal disease just for good measure. Yeah. Now tell me how you feel, after going through that. Tell me how you feel after being bullied and being the laughingstock of your school. Tell me how you feel after your own mother laughs at you while you're crying. Walk a mile in my shoes, then tell me how you feel. Then presume to know what's wrong with me. Go ahead, play doctor, prescribe me some medications. Tell me how this is all my fault. It's my fault that my parents divorced at the age of 7. It's my fault that my own mother never loved me. It's my fault that I'm ugly and dorky and awkward. It's my fault. Everything is my fault. Go ahead, tell me why I'm such a bad person. Tell me what I did to deserve this.