I'm not sure how to begin this, so I guess I will just begin. I am 27 years old, male. For years I have been battling depression and suicidall thoughts - sometimes it is really bad, sometimes not so bad, but it is always there. When I was little people used to tell me not to take things so seriously, but I was a pretty happy kid. That changed though. Without going into the gory details, I was abused by a family member (not my parents) when I was young and got a sickness as a result. I have never received counselling or seen a doctor about this. But life went on and I kept it secret. I've told two people - one anonymous friend on the internet, and a former girlfriend. When me and that girlfriend split up, I felt I lost the one person I could talk to about this stuff. I started cutting myself on the arm as a way to punish myself when I did things I was not proud of and also as a way to gain attention. I was sort of hoping people would see, and then force me to get help... but I hid it. Eventually I stopped cutting myself, mostly because I didn't want to have the marks on my arms. I've never really known what I want out of life. I guess the same thing most people want. Peace, comfort, love, happiness. But I've never had big plans for a family, and I've never known what I want to do for a career. However, after highshchool I did like everybody else and went to college, where I studied communications with a specialty in journalism. College was extremely stressful, and my drinking, which had previously been entirely social, became habitual. I went from drinking on weekends, to drinking a couple beer every day and getting drunk on weekends, to drinking 6 beer a day and so on... I knew early on that it was something to be shameful of and I hid my drinking from everybody except my drinking buddies, of which I had many. Anyway, the drinking made college difficult and I almost dropped out due to the stress and just not having my act in gear. My organization skills, which were never great, deteriorated, and I started becoming unreliable to friends and family. I started lying not just about my drinking, but how I was doing in school, in relationships with friends, lying about my finances, just... lying all the time. My grades started to slip, and I didn't feel I was doing good enough, and I was always so stressed out. Everything was a catastrophe. I would get assigned basic assignments for class and they would stress me out so badly that I would procrastinate and drink and smoke pot instead of actually getting things done. Eventually it became apparent that I was not going to graduate from college according to the timeline that my family and I anticipated. But I lied about this too. I didn't have all the classes I needed, but told my parents I did. Eventually the time came when my folks thought I would be done school, and I moved back to my hometown. Eventually I tried completing my college program by correspondence, but that didn't work out well. Again, I lied. Eventually I told my dad the truth, who agreed to keep it quiet and let me try correspondence again without telling my mother. But that didn't work out... of course it didn't. When she eventually found out, she was devastated. She was disappointed in me, and hurt that I would lie to her for so long about something so important. I don't think the trust has ever been repaired. But we worked things out and I went back and completed my program at the college, which was a great feeling. After that, I moved back to my hometown, again, and was unemployed for a while. Eventually I secured what I thought would be a good and satisfying job - a one year internship - doing communications/public affairs. It started out alright. The work was enjoyable enough, and I liked my manager. She then left and I was in charge of public affairs for the organization for a month until the new manager was secured. The job immediately became much more stressful as I took on many more responsibilities. I felt unable to deal with the work load. When the new manager started, I was relieved. But her and I just generally don't jive well. I never feel like my work is good enough for her standards, and she tells me I have to do better. I keep messing up, forgetting to do things, submitting work late... I've gone from feeling good about the job to feeling like a charity case in the span of less than a year. I feel like she has to do a lot more work because I am not a good employee and that she doesn't have any faith in me to do a good job on my own when she has to go out of town. And that's basically where I am now. I hate going to work every day. I fear it. I get panic attacks thinking about it - I become light headed, I get a pain in my chest, and a tingling sensation in my arms and sometimes face. Sometimes I even become sick to my stomach. I don't want to say what I do for a living, but most would accept that it is by nature a stressful job. But at the same time, I see everybody around me who seems to be handling their work no problem - they get stressed too, but it doesn't affect their work. I get so worked up that I can't even properly function. If I were my boss, I might consider firing me. I also feel like I've lost a lot of my friends, and have nobody to blame but myself. When a friend of mine's father passed away, I did almost nothing to support him through his grief. I didn't know how to deal with the situation and let his closer friends help him. Then when a friend of mine's girlfriend died, I was there for the funeral and not much else. I haven't spoken to him in months. I always turn down opportunities to be with my friends, and eventually they just stopped calling me, and I can't blame them. I also now lie to my friends about my drinking, when I used to be more or less open about it. After a particularly embarassing night a few months ago, I told them I was quitting drinking - which I did do, for a while. But I got back on it a couple months later, without telling them, of course. So now I never see them because I don't want to be around them when they are drinking, as I will want one, OR because I would prefer to be at home having something to drink. I know I must stop, but part of me still doesn't want to. I enjoy having a beer now and then with the few people I still drink socially with. But my body is telling me I have to stop. As all of this built up, I started feeling worse, and worse, and worse about myself. I started having suicidal thoughts more often, and thoughts that were more serious. A month or so ago it got very serious. I was so worried about going to work one day that I took a knife with me into the shower and started cutting at my wrists. I wouldn't call it a suicide attempt, but I was a little hopeful that I would accidently cut too deep and end it. When I saw the blood I was a little scared, but also peaceful. Then I bandaged myself and went into work. I ended up telling a friend of mine about it, and she supported me, told me the right things... but I still didn't feel much better about things. I am still having the same thoughts about how I am a bad friend, how I am not living up to my parent's expectations, how I keep screwing up at work, how I don't have any real plans in life. I love my family so much, and I feel terrible for how much I've lied to them over the years. I hide so much... but I know if I told them a lot of it it would hurt them severely. They have their own emotional issues and don't need me burdening them with more worries. That's really what I feel like sometimes: a burden. Like I'm a charity case. My health is deteriorating because I've been irresponsible and haven't followed my parent's advice/teachings. I have dental problems, I think I have a bad liver now, and my mind is not as sharp as it used to be. This is not how my parents raised me to be. The only thing that keeps me going is my love for my family. That's really it. I love them so much and I don't want to destroy their lives by making them have to arrange my funeral. I have a neice who I love and I don't want her to grow up with that stigma. But I don't see a realistic possibility of improvement. I feel hopeless and lost and like a pathetic shell of a man. I have a sharp knife and a noose in my room. I don't plan on using them to kill myself, but I like knowing they are there in case I have a change of heart. Sometimes the thought of killing myself is just so comforting.