Discussion in 'Rants, Musings and Ideas' started by xelz, May 11, 2009.

  1. xelz

    xelz Member

    I recognize my depression, and I see it for what it is.

    I truly hate my life. Every year I hate it more than the year before. I can't stop making mistakes, fucking up every opportunity that comes my way. It's truly a shame to realize that all your failings in life aren't the consequence of your potential, but rather a consequence of your effort, or lack thereof. I would love to blame this on depression, and maybe it really is depression. But if so, it's self-perpetuating. Unbounded. I don't see a way out if that is true.

    There is something telling when you achieve the same outcome doing something extremely difficult as you do with something else that's extremely easy. It's as though I curb myself to just get by. Unconsciously. There are always these 'aha' moments at points in time when I've realized that I've fucked up and there is no going back. The easier whatever task is at hand, the more I fuck up. This isn't a conscious process, it simply seems to be the way that I'm wired.

    While I've had a rough life, a rough childhood--certainly things that may excuse my behavior in the eyes of others. It's one of those things that I don't like to talk about, you know, you say it and then the room goes quiet and people are real careful what they say to you after that. As though, they might break you if they said the wrong thing. But, I often wonder if I believe my own swill. Am I really fucking up because of my past, or is it simply, I know that I have every excuse in the world to fuck up, and so I do. I don't really know the answer to that question, or maybe I do, but I don't want to hear the answer.

    I get by everyday by creating a fake life for myself, in myself. I justify my mistakes, or simply pretend that they did not happen. All of them. It's sad really. But there are only so many cards you can stack up in your mind before they come crashing down. Actually, I've had my house of cards come crashing down before. Crashing down hard, and I got smacked in the face with a good dose of reality. I hoped at that point that I would have changed, that now I would be different, normal, and I could just get through a day like everyone else. But even today, simple tasks seem monumental. Impossible to accomplish. Not accomplishing them only makes them so much less simple later on.

    I don't understand why I can't get anything done. Why is doing laundry as hard for me as programming a website. Why are mundane, retarded, little things so hard? Why can't I remember simple dates, or simple times, or find time to go to the grocery store, or find time to get back to the gym. Every day it gets worse, I get worse. I have barely left my house in three months, except when I absolutely have to. And I can never wait to get home. I could just as easily drive across the country as I could drive to the grocery store. The hardest part is opening the door.

    My life has been at some pretty low points, and seems to just get lower and lower and worse and worse. I've thought about killing myself, certainly. But I imagine that's pretty normal, I'm sure everyone at some point has thought about it. It's more a childish pathetic thing, than a serious thing. Like running away. This usually happens when a little bit of my reality seeps in. I acutally do enjoy my little house of cards that I've built for myself, my cover, the life that I project to the world, and to myself. I enjoy reveling in the person I wish that I was. But I admit that I do worry about what will happen when my projection is exposed for the fraud that is truly is. There is only so much you can hide from the people closest to you, and it becomes harder and harder as time passes. Which is probably why I push people away, why I wish I was somewhere far away from everyone I knew, free from all my obligations and expectations.

    The worst part about hiding all of this is that therapy is impossible. I've tried. A few times. But, I can't help but hide myself, even in a therapeutic environment. At best, I can come here and write some incomprehensible rant that probably doesn't make any sense to anyone but me. Actually, this is quite embarrassing, my house of cards personality would be ashamed of something this pathetic.
  2. xelz

    xelz Member

    Man I feel better. Thank you for participating in my cheap substitute for much needed therapy.
  3. shades

    shades Staff Alumni

    Your message, not a rant by any means was received loud and clear by me as I had those feelings in my early 30's and they've continued into my 50's. THere is one aspect you mention about knowing you're going to fail ahead of time that one therapist told me is called the 'self -fulfilling prophecy'. You fail because you already assume you will.

    I used to think this was total B.S., and I'm still not sure if it's true or not. BUt if you really feel it, it may be coming out in some ways in an interview, etc...

    I saw that you've tried therapy. Were there any meds. involved, like anti-anxieties. I'm not saying you should ask for them. All I can tell you is that I've had the same experiences you have and ended up on some meds. which have helped me.

    Let me know if you can about that! Also, don't worry if your post drops down the list. Things move quickly here...if you don't see many replies right away...continue to post or send me a private message. I'll respond..we have a lot in common.

  4. Stranger1

    Stranger1 Forum Buddy & Antiquities Friend

    Hey Xelz,
    You are definitely in the grasp of depression with what sounds like a little augoriphobia thrown in there..You should talk to a shrink about putting you on meds..It takes time to find the right combination because everyones chemistry is different..Once you get the meds straight then you should get back into therapy.. Therapy doesn't help overnight it takes alot of work.. I have been seeing mine for four years and didn't see any changes in me until I was there for two years..The combination of the two can give you back some of your life.. For many it has made them stable and they were able to get back into the main stream of life..Good Luck!!!
  5. xelz

    xelz Member

    Mike and Stranger1,


    I will consider going back to therapy. It's certainly been something that I've wanted to try again. I was never put on any medication, most likely a consequence of the fact that I was never honest in my therapy sessions. Going to therapy originally was never my idea, it was forced upon me, and I treated it with contempt. I didn't want help, and I let my arrogance and pride superseded my better judgment. I don't blame my previous therapist for not helping me, I think therapy is mostly taken, not given; at best, well received.

    I think I will continue posting here, writing this out is great help. As long as I am wearing out these keys, I'll continue, if anyone cares to read.

    Growing up my life was pretty hectic. My mother, who I guess I never really knew, was a heroin addict. But, as a child, you aren't really aware of these kind of things. The insanity of living with a drug-addicted mother was the status quo for me, I knew nothing else. My father tried his best to get my mother to quit, they would fight, over the drugs, and money. Day in and day out it was pretty much the same. My mother would say awful things about my father, like he beat her, and he was awful and terrible. There was a constant division in the house, one side versus the other, and I was always trapped in the middle.

    I hated being home. Hated it. I remember one time my mother took my on one of her shop-lifting sprees at Macy's and we got arrested. I don't think I ever wailed so hard in my life.

    When I was ten one day my father, unbeknownst to me, threatened to have me taken away from her. And so my mother did the only thing she really knew how to do, and overdosed. Suicide, they believe, but possibly not. To my father's credit, he never told me what happened to my mother until I was older. He feared that I would blame myself for her death, which as a child, I probably would have.

    We pretty much left town the next day, and started a new life. I must say the next ten years of my life were pretty normal. My father re-married shortly afterward. I had a real mother, and a real family. I was loved, and taken into another family as though I had always been apart of it. I went to school, ate my lunch, did my homework, had dinner with my dad and mom. My previous life had become a faded memory, a nightmare of times past.

    I remember as a child watching TV and seeing those television families and believing that they were some kind of made up fantasy, that they did not really exist--that most people's lives were actually horrible hells. It wasn't until my life changed so dramatically, and so quickly, that I learned so much about how fucked up my past really was.

    No good thing lasts forever though. A few years ago my step-mother, really, my second mother, died from lung cancer. It is a cruel irony that my biological mother should die a painless opiate drug induced death of her own volition, and my step-mother, who loved life, should be cruelly and painfully and slowly stricken down.

    Yesterday was a rough day, but today has been much better, now that yesterday is over. This time of the year is usually the worst for me. My birthday, mother's day, my mom's birthday all falling within the same week.

    Once again, thank you for participating in my cheap substitute for much needed therapy.