Well, I'll start by saying there's a lot of people who have a night of depression and end it. I'm not one of those people. I'm here because there's only one person to tell that the end has come. My Dad. We lived through hell together and hated each other every step of the way, then I moved, and over the years we gave each other a chance and became very close given a lot of time. How the heck do I say it? He'd know as soon as I sent the email... I just want him to know that not only is it not his fault, he's the reason I lasted this long. He still feels guilt for my childhood and will blame himself and he will live with that until the day he passes away thinking that he's a horrible person who killed his Son. He was an angry person and now he's kind and caring - everything we went through he's made up for tenfold. -- For the sake of understanding I'll share some information about myself, a run-down I suppose. Really the point is to show there's no use in trying to convince me otherwise. My first memory is from when I was two years old, it didn't come back to me until I was 19 years old suffering from temporary brain damage (explained later on) due to malpractice. In the memory the skies are changing so rapidly that a year would pass in one minute. There are endless fields (living on farm land) that span on forever. The first thing I see is an axe in the air, I'm looking up at it and it falls down and decapitates the chicken on the chopping block. There was blood everywhere. It got up and ran around the farm. I even remember the jackets we wore. It's quite vivid. My grandfather once told me a story I was too young to remember - I fell, bumped my head, when I was 2 years old and was badly injured. My mother is schizophrenic to the extreme - she would not take me to hospital because she thinks the government is out to get her. Instead she left me (many months after the injury) at the side of the road and drove off. Someone called child services who gave me back to her... but I got treatment, I remember having stitches up the entire side of my face all swollen and bruised. I suppose I should be thankful that I am not disfigured from it and it healed completely. Life went on. Parents fought every day and divorced when I was five. Our mum got us. We drove for thousands of miles. Living in a cabin in the hills that were invaded by possums at night an hours walk through a forest to the car, a further hours drive to a convenience store. I actually liked the possums, they were adorable, but they killed them all to stop them coming inside at night. It wasn't until I was eight that I was sent to school, we were never properly dressed, fed, looked after in any regard. The kids would beat me in gangs. I remember there being one nice teacher who would do what she could, then one day she left, the new teacher blamed me for their violence. Then one day my dad turned up, having apparently gotten custody of us. --- We moved far away and lived with our grandparents who I had never remembered meeting, I didn't know my father anymore. There was an incredible amount of shock involved and I suppose that's what sparked the illusions, I couldn't sleep with the light off for many years because everything in my room would come to life and I couldn't even scream because somehow I knew that if I opened my mouth they'd suck out my soul. That's the other thing. At eight years old I was trying to kill myself, but when I tried it the demonic illusions would come back and I knew if I died they'd take my soul. So the only thing I could do is to keep on living and hope they'll leave one day. I was trapped in a place where I knew no one whatsoever, with a father who yelled and screamed and blamed everything on me. He would apologize every night, he felt so awful but he couldn't cope with four children in a small house and no money - he lost his job by taking us and was on social welfare. He did everything he could to control his anger and pleaded forgiveness all the time, but we never forgave him, because he always would just do it again. I truly hated him. I didn't know it at the time but my grandparents truly cared but couldn't do anything for us. But I didn't even know them, yet they knew me and had been around a lot when I was too young to remember and I did not know that. The thing with being a kid is simply this; you're not in the same world as an adult, your fears, your worries, your enemies, are from an entirely different entity. If a kid is threatening you, you rarely tell anyone because you don't feel that adults have influence over your world. That's just an example that spreads throughout every problem a child suffers whether it's simply bullying or suffering from mental trauma. It's the issue with helping kids in abusive situations, they don't know how to ask for help, they don't even know they can, and if they did, they wouldn't believe anyone could help them. My entire life through primary school, middle school, high school, I had rare few friends and was tormented and unable to cope. Thankfully in the new area they weren't as violent except for one incident where I was being threatened on a daily basis by a kid, I was scared for my life and had to bring a weapon to school, one day he grabbed a loose chunk of concrete and tried to attack me with it, my 'weapon' was actually a metal bicycle chain, he ran to the principal and told him. I still remember that guy - one of the few staff at schools who gave a damn. He told the kid that with the way he was acting I had good reason to keep it on me. The kid attacked me after school on my way home, surrounded by adults who didn't do a damned thing - most didn't even look twice. Whole world filled with people who don't give a shit about anyone. He was using a can of deodorant to blind me but I eventually knocked him out with my plastic lunch box and ran. Then I got in trouble for breaking my lunch box and I couldn't find the words to tell anyone what had happened - it just wasn't worth it - who would care? I would be blamed for fighting. I fell behind on every single subject I ever took. I had nowhere that I was safe or could concentrate or think, let alone study; school was hell, home was hell. I wasn't ever in the right state of mind to spare a thought for school work. Then I was fifteen before I knew it. My gf of one year even though it was a pathetic long distance relationship cheated on me twice and got pregnant, had an abortion, and told me it was my fault for existing that she had to kill her child. Nowadays I know that's ludicrous, and I'd almost laugh about it now. But back then with all I was going through it affected me to a frightening degree- and I mean it when I say 'frightening' because the illusions developed into full blown hallucinations. I'd see demon children without anything but a torso, head, perfectly circular eyes and black hair. And like the rest, they were sitting there waiting to suck out my soul. I could feel the hatred they emanated - it was something beyond what even humans could feel but I felt it coming from them. I couldn't even hide under my covers because I could feel their presence long before they appeared and it was less painful to look at them. While I never truly heard voices, my brain would play tricks on me, if I knock on the bathroom door to see if anyone's in there, I wouldn't be able to figure out if anyone had replied or not. Sometimes I'd think someone's calling my name while I'm reading a book and no one had. I never heard a voice but something in my brain would register that I had. That lasted only months. I became homeless at fifteen until I was starving and went to the school therapist. She got me food and then got angry at me because I couldn't even take a bite, it made me feel like throwing up just having it near me. Then made me reconcile with my father at my own expense, having to apologize and pretend I had done something horrible just to have somewhere to live again. Since then, it has taken me nine years to be able to eat in the morning - and now it's only certain food that wont make me feel repulsed and ill. I went for years unable to eat bread or cereal due to having eaten virtually nothing but that my whole life. I dropped out of school at the end of the year when I turned fifteen. And the most spectacular thing happened, a bully that I had had the misfortune of being in school with since primary school and had given me a bad time for over five years apologized to me. The more baffling thing is he was being sincere and I could detect the guilt he felt. My dad didn't even protest, he knew I wasn't doing well AT ALL in school and figured I just struggled with those sorts of things. Then I went into studying IT because I had interest in computers and had been building them since I was 12 just scavenging for parts. I was sixteen when I started and learned nothing. I knew all they'd teach and it was a waste of time and a LOT of money. I got a bit of money while studying and it was something I had never experienced before. I bought a cell phone, candy, things I'd always wanted to eat. And unfortunately I tried eating fast food (burger king etc.) and became quickly addicted to what they put in it having never had it before. It was years before I became sick of it and that really affected my physical health and more than that- my financial problems revolved almost around it. But it was a true physical addiction and I could not break out of it. I dropped out of my IT course because something came over me. Depressive illness, lost all my motivation, lost interest in everything. It was rare that I could get out of bed before the afternoon and my Dad became angrier than ever thinking I was just lazy. At 17 I got a job in a pie shop and I was scared because when I turned 18 (at the end of that month) I would have to pay rent. It lasted almost a month, a few days before I just couldn't go in anymore, I felt too guilty to even call my employer- he called me and all I got out is "I don't think it's the right job for me" and that was it. So I was at the end of the road and would just let the demons have my soul. Keep in mind I didn't have an inkling what mental illness even entailed, I had no idea what was wrong with me just knew I couldn't go on. At the time I was playing an online game and had been talking to a person playing it for literally five years and I told her; she was a translator for a psychiatrist and understood and explained it on the very night I was going to 'leave'. So I called mental health services and told them what was happening. They called me the next day with an appointment in a few hours time. Initially they put me on social welfare (didn't even know what it was then) so I had some money to pay rent with. They tried a lot of medication, did tests to make sure I was physically functional mentally. Nothing ever worked and my illness was purely in my head and not a physical thing. I do not have much recollection of my very frequent appointments, just that I was severely traumatized. Sometimes I would go to a movie, and come back at night when it's dark, it was the most horrifying thing I could have done to myself; every car I walked past had corpses in them, and there was something following me that I could FEEL and I knew it wanted to kill me. But I couldn't run from it, if I walked normally it walked normally, but when I ran it ran faster than me. The trees and bushes tried to reach out and grab me to hold me down. The entire world wanted to kill me. There were demon's shadows playing on the walls. When I finally made it home I went straight to bed and woke up completely drenched from the fear induced sweat. At some points many months down the road they thought I was doing better, but I wasn't, the thing is I still struggled severely to tell anyone, even them. But they put me with a GP and he just continued my medication. One day I told him I had insomnia because my thoughts wouldn't stop racing so I could sleep. This is where he did something horrible to me. I knew nothing about medication, not even that it could have severe side effects. There was nothing in my head that told me I should research it. In my head this man was educated, this man would know what to do and how to treat me. I was wrong. He prescribed me 50mg Seroquel (quetiapine fumarate) saying it would slow the thoughts in my head down so I could sleep. And he wasn't wrong. It was like a section of my brain would send the thoughts, then another part would receive them, and that the Seroquel was a brick wall in between them... not only did I manage to sleep due to the severe sedation of Seroquel alone, it sure did stop my thoughts. I essentially was temporarily brain damaged from it, I went through each day just due to routine, I couldn't think properly, but eventually my thoughts started forming and SIX MONTHS LATER I was able to realize that a) something was wrong and b) the seroquel is destroying my mind. I went off it instantly, did not tell my doctor - the thought never occurred to me due to my mental state. That in itself could of caused permanent brain damage. Here's the thing, that phase of my life where I was on seroquel was so vague to me that I could barely remember it ever happened. It was during that phase that my first memory came to me as told at the beginning. It's been many years since those days. I went back into mental health services and was finally accurately diagnosed with psychosis and after all that I finally got proper medication and treatment. The hallucinations went away through prescription medication - and stayed gone after I came off it, has been months and months now - but I have come to accept that my motivation, interest, and energy will never return. I moved into this place a month or so ago and have not cleaned up any mess I made on the first day, my motivational issues is THAT severe. I can not even make myself pick up some stuff on the floor. I even got a temp job just to test the waters, one day into it I received a viral influenza and once the flu symptons ceased I came to experience the most severe physical pain I've ever had, and I'm still enduring it, unable to lie down on my bed to sleep due to the agony - even breathing deeply makes me feel as if I am being stabbed deeply by daggers. The thing is, I would not have lasted past the second day in that job. It was too much for me. The truth is... I can't make any friends, I do not understand how to interact with people and it has severely affected me in every step of my life. I can not work and probably will never be able to. I can not stand dealing with social welfare to get money because they make me feel pathetic and guilty, as if I am begging the government workers for money out of their own pockets. The woman at this office is racist against white people and will do everything she can to prevent a white person getting help. But I have no evidence, only through how she treated me and observing her while waiting to talk to someone. She is a disgusting person. Even then, they make it horrible asking for financial help and even in desperate need I can rarely do it. And the blatant truth is that I can not live like this. I wanted to die when I was eight years old and I couldn't because of the demons. But they aren't there anymore. No more 'give it another year and hope things improve' - I gave it sixteen even if it was involuntary and you know through my story I put every ounce of effort in that I was capable of. The reality is this: --- I am not capable of having a life that is worth living. I don't know what happens when you die and I have no fear because I've been to hell and I am not afraid of it. I'm already there. The only thing left is how to tell my Dad that he's a good person and can not blame himself?