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Just a talk

Discussion in 'Rants, Musings and Ideas' started by Scully, Jul 26, 2009.

  1. Scully

    Scully Well-Known Member

    Hello me.
    Contrary to what I've heard, it's not when I'm with me it's the worse. It's quiet. I don't want to be with people anymore. I've suffered from depression and anxiety, for so long; maybe all my life? How should I know. I haven't known anything else than all that shit.

    I guess I was born unloved. If I ever was, I must have been on headphones and chills-on. My mother never loved me, never touched me. Never encouraged me. Once I wanted a cuddle when I was 11, and she said "what do you want now?" Like what's behind you want in exchange. She died some months later. She had had cancer for about two years. Before that, I only knew her depressed. We had moved away from my legal father (the one who's on the paper), because he beated her, and he was a pain in the ass. I remember that for 5 miutes late when it was his turn to have me on Saturday after school, he called the police. He used to beat her. He was scary. He wanted to kill me, I think he's always thought I wasn't his. He tried to kill me with a pillow on my face, and the day then by letting me drown. I was 8 then. He would always make me sleep in his bed. He touched me once under the shower. This summer when I was 8 is the last time I saw him. 5 years of divorce he made endure to my mother and I, far from our family, 1000km away, not to have to bear him every week-ends.
    One year before she died, she told me my father was another man. She gave me several name in his family, and I checked, long years after of course, and it was real. That man became famous, later, more than one year after she died. He followed me on the street, like if he wanted to make contact, but he never did. I tried to make contact with him, to have an explanation, but it's always people working for him who answer. I just want the truth. I'm not looking for a father anymore. I need my real story to start over again. No one seems to understand why.
    When my mother died, I went to live with my grand-parents. I had some years of normal life, if it's not about that blond man who's got the same name my mother told me. Then my grand-father died, and all went wrong. It wasn't well with my grand-mother. I had the feeling to live peacefully when he was here, and that I would have a second chance on life after that dark childhood. But things changed, I wanted to know the truth behind all these silences, and why that blond man was there. All I ever had for response was the silence. Documents that could've helped me were removed by my grand-father, he told my grand-mother in front of me.
    June, 18, 2001, I was raped, got pregnant, told no one, because I trusted no one, I hadn't for long years already then. I was refused abortion, not time no place was what I was told. I left with the one who's still my BF today. The baby was adopted. One year and a half after I fell pregnant, from my BF, but I couldn't keep it. So I aborted. Years of masked depression, I didn't know it then. headaches, stomach aches, panics, anger, body aches, unexplained.
    Two years ago, I tried to push myself. I found little jobs these last two years, to look after children. Lots of abusers in that brand, because no one protects us poor workers. A salary of misery to work for bourgeois. In March, I told m boss wo wanted to suppress me more work hours that it wasn't possible; what he said was to search another job to complete. And what about the contract? Pff, a contract isn't valuable it seems. So I was fired for having tried to defend my rights. I had one month before I left. But my boss started to harrass me morally, he was verbally violent, and he threatened me, asked me to open my bag. Accused me to break things I didn't break. I left in sick leave, and I'm still in sick leave since then. I'm on seroplex and xanax, following a therapy (a psychiatrist and a psychologist). It's been several months, but it's not working anymore. when I tell my psychol. something, all he finds to do is, "he yeah, you're gonna have to live with it, what do you want me to tell you?" I'm even more depressed then. I pfeel physically a wreck. Paradoxically, I rarely cry, what I would need I think.

    I left my family 8 years ago, and have had some contact with some of them for some weeks/months. But I don't want to go back. To me family doesn't mean anything. After I was raped, I started cutting myself, it lasted some months. I also took pills to try to kill myself.
    When I began to work, I thought it would be good for me, valuable, and that I'd progress. But it just made understand we're pawns. I don't believe in work either. Actually I'm pretty down, and exhausted, and I don't have interest for anything anymore. The only thing I do is internet, TV, music, and booze when I'm alone, too much these last days. I'm a writer, well was a writer, because it's been months I don't really write anymore.

    My partner's not there today. He said he would come back this morning, but we're 3.30pm, and no news since this morning. He just said he loved me. I feel unloved. Maybe I am? And angry.

    I believe this world is mostly made to break us on our knees, and if we look up for a second chance, there's always someone to abuse you. I believe in nothing. And I trust no one. I can't stand to see people these days. Their "normal" lives and judgements gets on my nerves like never before. I hate that world of righ throwing food to the trash when some die of hunger, disease. I support several causes, but I never feel it's enough. It's like throwing a dime in the ocean.

    Working? therapy? I though it was positive. I try to re-learn to write left-handed to, because i'm a lefty, for all but writing. I was forced at school, and also at home (grand-mother, legal father). At school they hit me for that. I wonder why I should try new things, anyway, it always turns against me. I don't want to hope anymore, it's always disappointment after disappointment. I only endure because my partner's still here. Though not very caring. Anyway, I don't think he understands what I've been through.

    It might sound crazy, but the only thing that gives me some hope, sometimes, is all the good that Gillian Anderson do to people, all her causes. It's an inspiration to me. I hurt, but I want to help others who hurt also, who hurt more. I saw her hug someone who cried, somone she didn't know at all. It opened my eyes. And more. But they're some days I'm so down, so sick I can't help others. Those days are the worse. I'm apathetic, and I can't help it. These days I hate myself.

    And, I wonder, how many others? How many of us will...
  2. Sadeyes

    Sadeyes Staff Alumni

    It is the hardest when it is quiet, but I have found that affirming my worth and goodness makes it a little easier...hope you find things within yourself to cherish...I am sure they exist...big hugs, J
  3. Scully

    Scully Well-Known Member

    Thank you.
  4. Scully

    Scully Well-Known Member

    Today, it's difficult.
    I'm not suicidal, but anxious, quite a bit.

    Like I said already, I'm followed in a psycho-medical center, for depression and anxiety. Although I'm on meds, I start having big insomnias again (2-3h, to 8h). Happily I'm on sick leave because I don't know how I could work. I was fired anyway, some months ago. I'm afraid this circle of burn-out, depression, work, ... will go on and on.... until I'm diagnozed with my real problem.

    I have suspicious of some things, but I don't really know what's wrong with me. But I'm not normal. I've never been normal. You start understanding it so when you put a toe in school. I was always alone in the yard. annoyed in the little classes, sometimes bullied in primary school. Mostly misunderstood in grade school. Different. In highschool I was alone, or with people who found me strange, but it was okay with them.

    When I was little, the rare times my mother brought me to children birthdays (twice), before she understood it was useless, I mostly stood still on my chair, or did activities but didn't mix witht he kids; like in the yard in fact. I've always preferred to be alone I guess. I have difficulties in social occasions, I have difficulties in oral communication. I'm not well perceived I think, in what I say sometimes. I'm often in my head, distracted, daydreaming, and in the same time, as I look perfectly still, inside my brain never stops running it seems. Sometimes it keeps me from sleeping. I think in pictures. I'm a very visual thinker. Read instructions is painful to me, I prefer schemes. However, weirdly I'm gifted at languages, not with numbers. Mentally counting is hard for me. I have sensory "pains". Too muh light can hurt me to the point I have "rainbows" before the eyes, like electric traits. It gives me headaches. Loud sounds really hurt my ears when it doesn't look to bother others. they don't even notice sometimes. And sensory. I can't stand to be in very crowds, in crowds I tolerate a short time, if I know I go somewhere else. I can't stand to be touched by people I don't know.
    But if I could only stay at home, be a writer, do my "geek" stuff, I think I could put up with the downs = anxiety/ insomnias. But I have to work. The last two jobs I had was working to look after children for peers, not in a structure. So I mostly worked the afternoon, but one day the entire day. I could sleep, and have time for coping, which I need a lot, hours per day. But it was always abuses, although there was a contract. It's already painful for me to fit, to small talk (I hate it, I'm bad at it, I find it useless, and what people find often polite I find it hypocrite). It's painful for me to have to concentrate on tasks with children, because my mind is somewhere else. When I'm not interested, I just slip. Also I'm cool, generally i'm not annoying to live with if I'm respected in my way, and pace. At work, and in the world of work, it doesn't happen that way.

    I think I'm an HSP, possibly an ADD, and possibly an AS.

    Right now I feel stressed and frustrated. Yesterday I called the Autism Resources Center in my area, and they told me the nurse would call me later, or today. I waited, and called back, and they wouldn't have called me back. Already, this is something I HATE, when people say they'll call or come and don't. So in the end she said (the secretary) that the nurse had my number and would call me anyway. See, I prefer to be told that since the beginning, that they will call me, but don't give a schedule.

    Okay, what I'm really good at? Languages. Yes, although I feel lazy to learn more. English isn't my first language, but I think I'm quite good at it. I have something with sounds too, music, and beats, rhythms. I play the drums with my teeth, bad habits, but release some stress. And i'm a writer. I've been since age 12. I visualise things I try to put in words, but it'll never be the same. I 'd like we could write visual books, for people can see what I have in my head.
    I also love science, I have an interest in neuroscience. Astronomy. Psychology and Carl Jung and Myers-briggs.

    Being different should be great, it should add colors to that gray world. Instead of that, it's regarded as abnormal; to me it's too "normal" people who are often lame and abnormal.
  5. Scully

    Scully Well-Known Member

    I hate myself and I want to die.
    I've been in sick for 6 months, and may be prolonged. Still on meds. Holding on to therapy. I decided to register to an exam, October 23rd, but I lack confidence. I'm doing psy tests at the center. I fear I'm an inwardly expressive borderline, with comorbidities: anxiety and depression. The tests aren't over yet, and I should wait for the analysis results. But it's an intense feeling. Pervasive impairment in social interactions. Yet I empathy more than most of people I know. I prefer to be Aline and very few close relationship/ friendships, because it mostly end bad. I see no future. I'm a chronic severe insomniac (though the meds help), and I'm just what I am, and often angry. Job/work/society = not for me. I wanted to cut myself so bad today. I didn't do it, no, I drank instead. It's like I coulnd't resist it. BPD is like an insult. I'm so sick of ignorant asses who say mental illnesses are bull. I'm so angry, empty and sad.