I just don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do anymore. When I was growing up, I hated school and hated the town where I lived. Figured, once that was over, I'd be able to go to college and get out of that place. Which I did, but that wasn't really any better. But, optimist that I am, I figured if I just stuck it out and got a nice valuable engineering degree, I'd be able to get a good job and all that crap. So I stuck it out and finished university and ran smack into the worst depression of my life so far. So I sought help. From one psychiatrist after another. Got a diagnosis of ADHD and bipolar disorder type II. I was prescribed so many different medications. The ADHD ones were very helpful (I went on them before graduating university, I doubt I could have finished without them) but the antidepressants always either made things worse, worked for a week or two and then stopped, or just did nothing at all (the most common result). After one failure after another in the prescription drug arena, I decided to see if illegal drugs worked any better. At this point, I was spending a lot of time thinking about suicide. Especially, hanging myself with a belt, or injecting myself with potassium chloride. I really didn't want my family to have to go through all that pain, since I know they care about me. But then, and now, my family felt like more of an obligation than a blessing. I hate feeling like that, like it'd be better if there were no one to miss me. Isn't that a horrible thing to think? Anyway, I tried smoking weed, but that just sapped my energy, although it did make me more open and talkative, which was good. And it made me part of a network of other people who share weed and smoke together, which at this point was really quite a benefit. This was in 2008, and I joined the Obama campaign as a volunteer, and got to meet our then-future president once, before he beat Hillary Clinton in the primaries. I have some awesome memories of that time, even though I was smoking quite a bit of weed. But anyway, once Obama won the primaries, and McCain selected Palin as his VP, it was clear Obama was going to win, so I ended up leaving the campaign and going back to grad school. I quit weed entirely, since I didn't want it to affect my grades. But my first semester of grad school was crap. I had to drop two classes, and my other two I did very mediocre in. The depression hit hardcore during midterms, and I couldn't even figure out a simple algebra problem my younger sister needed help with. And I'm taking advanced differential equations as part of a graduate degree in engineering. At this point, I'm still taking adderall for ADD, but this doesn't help at all with my depression. So... I got really desperate. Managed to get my hands on some methamphetamine. And it literally changed my life. I suddenly loved my schoolwork, and excelled in all of the new classes I was taking. Because I did so well in my classes, all of a sudden I had all these Indian students wanting to be my friend. The one class I did best in was a virtual reality class, where I used my extensive (and up to this point, totally irrelevant) knowledge of video game programming to program virtual reality simulations, especially for robotic surgery. I started dating an Indian girl who was a friend to another Indian who worked in my lab, and it was by far the best time of my life. I enjoyed being around other people. I loved what I was doing. I was actually GOOD at what I was doing. Not like my other jobs, which I was inevitably fired from after a few months. I spent long nights in my lab, in discussions with the other students (all of which were Indian, I was the only American in my lab). I had a normal sex drive, and began having awesome sex. It was like I was living the life I always wanted to live, but it was only because I was using methamphetamine. I wasn't using a lot though. Heavy users of this stuff can use about a gram a day, whereas it would take me a month to go through a gram. For a year and a half I was on top of the world. Then I got caught when border patrol cops found some methamphetamine in my car when I was crossing back to the US from a trip to Canada. Suddenly it all came back. The depression, the constantly feeling like shit, the pointlessness and the stupidity of it all. I was released on bail, but had to live with my parents (by court order), which in retrospect was probably not the best place for me to live, since I was cut off from my social life. Things were really bad at first, and I just wanted to end it all so badly, I ended up using drugs even though I was being tested. So they put me in this outpatient rehab program. But I felt like I didn't really fit in there. The other people in group therapy would talk about the horrible things drugs did to their lives. I was the only one who was like, drugs made my life awesome. But I stayed off them anyway because I didn't want to go to jail. But then because I falsely tested positive on a drug test during rehab, even though I hadn't used in well over a month, I went to jail anyway. For a month, until a spot opened up for me in inpatient rehab. Inpatient rehab was a real eye-opening experience. There were so many people there who had scars on their hands and wrists and who talked about trying to kill themselves. So many of them had such horrible lives, it made me feel a bit better about myself. But again, I felt like I didn't belong. Drugs and alcohol had ruined so many of their lives, but for me, the only thing that ruined my life was getting caught. They did convince me that it was a good thing I quit, since I was sure I didn't want to end up like many of them. So I got out, and stayed clean, despite hating my life and losing all my friends and my girlfriend, and basically just sitting around watching TV all the time because I hated everything and had no energy. Again, everything seemed so stupid and pointless, and I started thinking of ways to kill myself. I even made some <Mod Edit, WildCherry: Methods> , just in case. Again, I was on another series of antidepressants, each more useless than the last. My weight shot up, then shot down, then shot back up again. I had to go on Medicaid to pay for this regimen of counselors, psychiatrists, and useless medication. The drugs typically cost more than rent ever would, and did NOTHING. I remember putting the <Mod Edit, WildCherry: Methods> in my mouth once, to see if being so close to death would scare me, and it didn't. I spit them out, and held onto them until my parents got really mad at me for something stupid, then I gave them to my mom and told her what they were and to get rid of them. My research work had ground to a halt, and I got as much done in a month as I did before in a day, and the work I did do was really poor quality. Oh yeah, and because apparently I'm a drug addict now, I can no longer get any doctor anywhere to prescribe me ADD medications. Except for crap like Strattera, which is basically a placebo that gave me stomach aches. I think I'm on my eleventh antidepressant/bipolar type medication. I basically spend all my time reading magazine articles and watching TV shows on my laptop. I can't think. When people ask me questions, I forget what I'm talking about, or struggle to carry on conversations. I'm always having to make up excuses for why I'm so inarticulate, or why I can't follow a conversation or understand what people are telling me. They're the exact same excuses I used to use before I started taking ADD medication. Usually I say I'm tired, or I was drinking the night before, because even that's better than being a moron who can't follow a stupid human conversation without drifting off. As one by one I lost all my friends I had made during my drug-fueled ascent, my life just got worse. Keep in mind, none of said friends knew about my drug use, so it's not like these people were drug buddies or anything. They were typically other engineering grad students that I just stopped caring about because I just wanted to be by myself all the time. I started thinking about different ways to kill myself. At first, I thought about <Mod Edit, WildCherry: Methods> again, but then someone would have to find me dead, and I didn't want that to be anyone I knew. Then I thought it'd be better to just crash my car at a really high speed with no seatbelt, (my family could tell themselves it was an accident, not a suicide) but with my luck I'd probably lose my lower jaw, a good sized chunk of my brain, and the ability to move anything below my neck, and be in the care of my super-catholic mom who thinks euthenasia is some sort of horrible modern evil. I thought a lot about hanging, and even sort of hung myself once, but it was in a place where I could get down really easy, and I did. I just wanted to know what it would feel like, and I knew I wouldn't want to go that way. Plus, I'd have to be found by someone and didn't want it to be anyone that knew me. Really, my problem is just depression. Never-ending, soul-crushing, depression. With an occasional hypomanic episode every other year that lasts for two or three days, but really just horrible, horrible depression. Nothing is enjoyable anymore. Going out with friends is painful, because I just end up making an idiot out of myself and then spend days afterwards thinking about what an idiot I was. Or getting stupidly drunk in a vain attempt to make the pain go away, then passing out. The latter I don't do very often, and shouldn't do at all according to the conditions of my release, but sometimes I just don't give a fuck. My life lately has been like playing a game where you answer questions, and if you get a question right, you get a black jellybean, and if you get a question wrong, you get whacked on the back of the head with a steel pipe. I mean, who would want to play that game? Sometimes I do alright for a while, amassing myself a small handful of metaphorical jellybeans, but then someone is mean to me and I'm back crying under my covers and wishing I could save a busload of kids and somehow die in the process, because then I could be remembered as a hero and my family would be proud of me. I started watching My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. (I'm a 29 year old guy) I highly recommend this show for anyone going through depression. It's just so fucking happy and cheerful, it'll make anyone smile. But after watching the entire series three times, it's not like it changed my life or anything, it basically just postponed my depression for a few weeks. And I'm still an unemployed loser who lives with his parents and has pending felony charges against him. And now I just feel like I'm running out of options. Some days the only thing keeping me going is knowing that once I'm off probation I can start using drugs again, and have the life I used to have. But is that really any way to live? And if I get caught a second time, there won't be any mercy for me. I'm thinking of moving to a different country, like India, where the drug laws aren't as strict. I could get a good job, or teach engineering to poor Indian kids. All my future dreams kind of involve me using stimulants so I have enough energy to roll out of bed in the morning and shave and shower, not to mention do something productive in this world. I keep feeling like I have to do something important with my life. Because if I just do some crappy office job just to make money, what kind of life is that? Because, to be perfectly honest, I don't care at all about my own survival; I never have. I still care about other people, because I figure if I can't really be grateful for my life, at least I can help other people who are grateful for theirs. But if it just meant living for myself? To be honest I'd rather be dead. So I've volunteered. I volunteered for the Peace Corps. Rejected, not sure why. I volunteered for Big Brothers/Big Sisters. Rejected again. Probably because of my mental health issues. (this was before I had a criminal record or started using drugs, I was actually not a bad role model at that point in my life) More recently, I've looked into tutoring high school kids in math and science, but even that takes a background check these days. I mean would YOU want a "crazy drug addict" tutoring YOUR child? With my mental health issues, I think I'd make a really unreliable husband/father, so I'm not sure it's such a good idea to think about having a family, plus, I've got all these craziness genes I'm not too keen on passing down. So what else is really left for me? I ask myself that a lot. If I stay off drugs, I can expect to be a bitter loser who's only staying alive for the sake of his family, and who resents them for it. I can keep trying new antidepressants, and hope that one eventually works, but so far none of them have even come close to just making me stop thinking about suicide all the time. The things I think about to keep me going have been kind of lame lately. For example, if I do it, people will say about me, oh, he got mixed up in drugs, and that's why he did it. I wouldn't want people to think that, since my problem is depression, not drug addiction, so I live another day. Also, the medication I'm on makes me test positive for amphetamines, so I'm worried someone will do an autopsy and find I test positive for amphetamines, and say, oh, he was using drugs, that's why he did it. So I think, grrrr, I'll wait until I'm on some other useless medication that doesn't show up as amphetamines in a blood test, then off myself. I'd have a clean tox screen, then they couldn't say it was drugs that made me do it. But these are pretty stupid reasons to go on living, and sometimes I don't even care about them. I mean, why should I? The only reasons I think of them at all is because they're reasons to possibly live another day, lame as they might be. I'm starting to get worried, since I spent most of the last week settling on a suicide plan. It's to <Mod Edit, WildCherry: Methods> which is actually not very far away from me. That way, it's be quick, certain, and they have so many other people that do the same thing that they've got a protocol there and everything. It's like a 200 foot drop, so dead on impact, and my parents wouldn't have to be haunted with the memory of finding my dead body. Not sure they'd appreciate the gesture though. Oh, and to top it all off, I have some pretty pervasive gender identity issues. Like, I've wished I were a girl since I was like 7 or 8. The illegal drugs seemed to divert my focus elsewhere, take my mind off the fact that I'm some sort of pervert. But now that I'm laying around all the time, these issues are once again front and center. Like every time I see a pretty girl, I get jealous of her and wish I looked like her. Which I guess is true for a lot of girls too. But at least they don't feel like a pervert every time they think that. I hate my life. Why does everything have to be so stupid and pointlessly complicated? I know there are people worse off than me. There are lepers in India who can't say certain sounds because their lips have fallen off, but at least they want to go on living. At least they have something driving them, as unfathomable as that is to me. But I just can't stop seeing the world as a big stupid hamster wheel that we're all supposed to just keep running on until we die. And I'm all out of plans.