I guess this is where this post belongs, and as my first post, it'll also double as a little info about myself. Ever since I was about eleven or twelve, I have had unhappy thoughts. I don't know where they came from, but one day, everything changed. I'd like to attribute it to things that changed at that time, such as maturing and discovering more about myself, but I can't say for sure. I am gay. Despite this, I have never actually thought of it as a weakness or something to be pitied, but this fact has caused much internal strife. I have never been outright bullied for any reason. Nobody picked on me outside of what normal boys would do to other boys. I know I'm luckier than most. Though I lived mostly unscathed by society during my adolescent years, I soon grew to realize that my greatest enemy was myself. It was the only thing I could not overcome. As I got older, finding that I had an attraction to other men added unease to my already self-doubting mental state. Thought I have mostly been able to come to a peaceful resolution with this, sometimes I find myself dwelling on what ifs. Family has never been a huge source of support for me. This isn't to say that I do not have caring parents, but it has been hard to explain to them the feelings I struggle with. I guess the one person I can relate to the most is my mother. She had found herself in a similar state to mine when she was younger, and actually attempted to take her own life. Those things are behind her now, and she has always aimed to keep them in the past. Part of this "keeping those feelings in the past" process included having no tolerance for my own issues. She wouldn't talk about them. She found talking about it to be pointless, and said that I just needed to move on. While I understand what she meant now, I also know that it's not that simple sometimes. Because of what troubled my mother in her youth, her parents and the rest of the family deemed her a 'black sheep', and by that perspective, I am the black sheep of the black sheep. I had never known my real father. He and my mother separated when I was born, but I had always been told that he was abusive. I never questioned this. He wasn't there, so it had to have been true. Shortly after that, my mother had my sister with another man, and the same thing happened. When I was about eight or so, my mother found love and soon married. He became the father figure in my life, but as life goes, nothing is perfect. As time passed, he grew more and more violent. Although he held love for my sister and I in his heart, he often found himself yelling and becoming enraged at the simplest things. At first, I was afraid. There was nothing I could do, and my mother would go along with this. Eventually, she began to console him and always tried to calm him. My sister kept to herself in these moments, as did I, but would sometimes try to stand up for myself. It always ended terribly, and so, I learned to keep to myself. As I neared the end of high school, my mother and I had become tired of his rage fits. I wasn't afraid to tell him that his yelling didn't resolve anything, and neither was my mother. Regardless of how she felt, she stayed with him. She supported him. She fought through the anger and began to ignore it. In a way, so did I, but my life began to shape around other things. I was tired of his attitude and knew that it wasn't going to change. For this reason, we had never grown close, and probably never will. By the final days of high school, harsh realizations began to rip apart my mind. Things I had never given thought to suddenly became towering beasts of which I could not fell. I never had any childhood dream to chase after. I never wanted to be anything. I lived in the now. Part of this was my exceedingly low self-esteem. Another part was my love for video games, which drove me to find seclusion throughout all of my teen years. My parents never pushed me to do anything. All in all, it wasn't their job. It was mine. But I never thought about it, and when I reached the time when I needed to make an important career decision, I was crippled. All of these kids who found their fondness of one thing or another through high school became my bane, and my low self-esteem became an anchor to my motivation. Somehow, I persisted. Somehow, I continued on. Suicide occupied my thoughts, but I could never actually bring myself to end it. I wasn't sure if I was a coward for not being able to do it, or if I was weak for thinking of doing it. It was inconsequential. Either thought dragged me farther down into this unnamed abyss. At the time, I was eighteen. I told myself I would never live past twenty. The summer of my graduation, I found love. Something I told myself I would never find, as I had never truly sought it. As a shell of a person, who would find love in me? And how would I provide it? I didn't know. But it happened, and it was a whirlwind. Strange feelings collided with ancient doubts as I experienced what sharing my heart with another person felt like. It was awkward. Sometimes I would forget about what dreadful thoughts lurked in my head and felt as if I began to progress with myself. As the shininess and freshness of love wore, through the cracks seeped this deep blackness which quietly bubbled in the recesses of my mind. I was there again. This time, however, someone else was with me. My lover had never felt what unrelenting sadness was like, and so he had a hard time dealing with such monstrous feelings that flooded our relationship. I couldn't stop them, and I watched as they corroded our relationship and caused it to decay. Though I had brought nothing but sad thoughts and unhappy feelings into our relationship, he still found ways to love me. I was amazed. Though we struggled through these toxic feelings of mine, we did it together, one step at a time. For the first time in my life, I knew I was truly not alone. Through this struggle, and with my lovers' guidance, I decided upon a profession. It was something, and I would take anything I could get. The experience was life-changing. Over the next three years, so many things changed. My attitude, my outlook on life, and how I handled my thoughts. I felt reborn. I felt free from the shackles which bound my younger years and finally thought I could live as a (mostly) normal person. I had finally found friends who cared, who laughed, who enjoyed things which I enjoyed. I was happy. Though this three-year experience will never leave me, neither will the events that ended it. During those three years, I barely kept in touch with my parents. I had moved in with my lover and his family (who are the most amazing people I have ever had the chance to know), I was studying in school, and felt as if I was moving on from those times in my life. My parents had always tried to make my sister and I happy through gifts, but there was always a catch. With a gift came an expectation - the expectation that we would do whatever they said, and we would not argue with them. They used this power over us liberally, even after we had gone off and began developing our own lives. Their form of this were my student loans. As long as I was in school, I had to abide by their rules. They asked that I pay them for the duration of my schooling, with which the money they would send to the bank towards the loan. They also told me they'd claim me in taxes, which I agreed to. Now, this isn't to say that they payed for everything. I was receiving a substantial amount of money from the government, too. While I was in school, money from the excess government loans was sent to me. I researched where this money came from, and made sure it was not from my parents' private loan. Though the sums were small, they helped with school and food. I never once mentioned it to my parents, which turned out to be my mistake. One day, they received a letter addressed to me and decided to open it. It contained a check - one of the checks that I had gotten before. Through seemingly unwarranted paranoia, they assumed that I had been stealing from them. After talking with them and explaining, they decided to end their aid which forced me out of school. This also forced me to quit my job, as it was supplied by the school. I took this very well. I had learned to 'roll with the punches'. I was a different person now, and I would find a way to carry on. My now-fiance was flabbergasted by what my parents had done, but I had accepted it and moved on. What was done, was done. I lost everything (I had no car, fiance drove me as we lived an hour away from everything), I fell out of touch with friends, I receded. For the next six months, I did what I could to help my fiance with school. He only had six months left. Time flew as I remained at home, taking care of the house as I was the only one there most of the day. Soon, he graduated and though this dedication, he earned a job right off the bat. We moved and settled into this new life. This is where I am. My life has not been a bad one. I am my worst enemy. Through this time alone, the walls which have supported my new self have been slowly eroding. What little confidence I had has washed away. The hope I had fostered recently fizzled out. Right now, it feels that the best option would be to end it. I am twenty-two. I lived past my own expectations. I found something I never thought I could. I know I should be happy, as I have the love of my life with me, but living for him is not enough. I play MMOs and other games daily, and am only motivated to work out so I do not whither away. I have become a shell. A husk. I do not leave this one-room apartment much. I sit in front of a computer each day. I want to get back to school. I want to do something with my life. But because of circumstances beyond my control, I cannot. I must wash dishes and fold laundry for a living. I feel extremely lucky, but I do not feel happy. I feel locked into this situation, and have no choice but to continue down this path. I can feel my hold slipping, but I refuse to lose everything I have tried so hard to accomplish. I want to do something with my life, but this crippling depression which grew from isolation has all but killed my self-esteem and motivation. Passing away in my sleep would probably be a relief to my fiance (though he hates when I talk like that). Thank you for reading this wall of text. I really do appreciate it. I hope to find some outside opinion with this post, as I do not have anyone I can talk to about this. Sometimes talking to a stranger is the best thing to do, right? How would you cope with this situation, given the circumstances and mental state? Thanks again.