- 13,640
- North Jersey
- MistaX1
Ever since I made that post in the "Why are people so cruel" thread about my own issues, I've been considering making a thread about it.
Tonight I had a pretty major reaction from Ozzy on MSN, about how "Dude, the way you acted when I met you, no one would ever know"
He's right. I don't act depressed. Like anyone who is actually clinically depressed.
Anyway, that inspired me to make a thread. Because the first step in repair is admission, right?
For as long as I can remember I've been depressed. It began at around 6th grade, my first year in the local public school, after spending K-5 in the local Catholic school. I decided on my own to make the switch due to no one living around me, and not being able to "hang out" with local kids.
The switch was a complete disaster, I was made fun of constantly. Throughout 6 through 8th grades I had around 5 friends. The same 5.
Upon the switch to High school, I entirely changed myself. From being a complete nerd, I went to a complete.. there really wasn't a term for it at the time, but what you would now call a "goth" but not conventional.
I bought myself a really, really, really long black trench coat and wore black. Always. Freshman year went decent, Sophomore year everything went to hell.
It started by me cutting class. To sleep outside. Once a week, at most, to start.
By the end of November I was kicked out of every class but one, due to never showing up. I spent every day hanging out outside talking to the crossing guard.
After literally telling a teacher to "Go **** Yourself" I was forced to face one of the directors, and he asked me straight out "What the hell is wrong with you?"
My answer was "I ****ing hate my life"
So he figures it out, I'm extremely depressed. I get "removed" from school temporally to go to "Partial" Therapy. I also get put on Paxil.
Partial was me going to the local hospital's therapy area, doing school work for around an hour, and then spending the rest of the day in a group talking about our problems. Once a week, individual therapy.
I considered everything a huge joke, and everyone trying to help me was in it for the money.
About two weeks into partial a new girl shows up. A girl named Dana. A girl who was "into" dealing with her problems through cutting herself. She was fresh out of an inpatient hospital stay.
She was scared to go home at the end of the day, completely hysterical, because she knew when she left she would just hurt herself and end up back in the hospital.
So being the absolute great guy that I am, I just say "How about I go with you, to make sure you don't?"
"Ok"
"What was that?"
"Yes"
"...Really? Wow! I wasn't expecting that"
"hehe"
So I go to her house, just hold her while she's crying and nothing spectacular.
But I fell in love with her. That day. Everything about her fit me.
Around 10PM I called my mother to come and pick me up. She flipped because she had no idea where I was. But she was happy for me, for doing something right for once in my life.
I continued going to her house for the next few days.
On the 3rd day, I confessed that I loved her.
"I feel.. the same way" was her reaction. So, now I have a real girlfriend. A real live girlfriend!
Partial went on as normal until I was drug tested and came up positive for marijuana. Whoops. But I convinced everyone it was a one time experimentation and wouldn't happen again. Which was kind of true.
About two weeks later I get drug tested again and came up positive for PCP. Which was a mistake and I never even meant to do it. It was in a cigar. Long story that's not relevant.
Either way I got put into a drug rehab program as well as still being in partial. Yippie! I'm a drug addict now (even though I wasn't)
Once again, I was surrounded by people whom I didn't fit in with.
Although most of my memories of the rehab are a blur (Thanks Paxil!)
I remember it being pretty crappy.
Eventually the staff at partial deemed me ready to go back to school. A day signified by me wearing a white T-Shirt.
They screwed up. Me going back to school lasted for about 2 weeks, and I got kicked out of all my classes again, and then kicked out of school.
But every day I would walk to the Hospital (Like, 3 blocks away, at most, from the school) to see my Dana at partial. When she could, she'd walk with me home to my house, where we'd hang out and do whatever.
When I was kicked out of school they put me on home schooling for the rest of the year. And god damn, that was awesome. 3 days a week, one hour a day, each day a different subject.
Apparently I did so well in home schooling I actually passed for the year. Shocking.
For Junior year I was transfered to an alternative school. A school for the mentally ill. I fit in perfect, since everyone else had way worse problems than I did.
From constantly running away from home to kids who's parents beat the living crap out of them for no good reason. Me hating myself was pretty minor.
During the summer between Junior year and Senior year I got a job at a gas station. Most of my memories of which are a blur. (Paxil) But I wound up with a broken nose one night (Which is crooked to this day), and eventually, planted a Mazda B4200 into a house. Which sucked, obviously. There's a thread on it. I've only recently gotten over it. In my eyes it put me in an even worse mental state than I was already in.
So Senior year was my best and worst school year ever.
I stopped doing classwork and instead took naps. Awesome naps. I had a teacher bet me that I couldn't sleep standing up. A bet that I won.
During Junior year we had a room we could smoke in during 10 minute breaks, Senior year they removed that.
So I became really good friends with the janitor, because he'd come to whatever class I was in and say he needed my help. So we'd do some stupid thing that he definitely didn't need me for, and he'd take me outside to smoke.
Eventually I just started going out on my own. I nailed proper timing and never got in trouble for it, while a lot of copycats did.
By the end of the year I was doing janitorial work for grades. I built a radio for Spanish class, a Bookshelf for English class, a telegraph for Math. Don't ask me how any of those relate to each other. I don't care, it helped me pass.
I graduated (barely).
Now it was time to face the real world. Without having solved any issues that I've had.
In September 2005, as a graduation present, I was given something major. Something I will never forget.
A Polo Green Metallic, 1997 Chevrolet Camaro Z28 M6. That I picked out myself.
A car that I had 3 months before getting my license. So it sat in the driveway. Then I got my license in December and still didn't drive it because of my lack of courage due to the Mazda incident. Plus I couldn't drive stick.
Me and my father went to the mall parking lot twice, to teach me stick, I just didn't really have the balls to drive on the street. But he called me "Impressive"
One of my friends at the time just randomly showed up to my house in January and said "Help me move" I said "Alright.. how?" Threw me the keys to his car and said "You're driving"
"What? Are you sure?"
"Yes go start the car up idiot"
The car wasn't just any old car. This car, was a 2006 Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution IX MR.
The whole event was a turning point in my life. It was a do or die situation. Face my fear and drive a manual car, on the street.
So hey what the hell, It's an Evo!
I take it around the block, no cars around, it's fine I can slip the clutch as slow as I want.
But after two stop sign turns, we have to merge on a highway. 90 degree turn to a 55mph or so constant speed.
Very daunting, to me. So I slip the clutch turn and gun it.
I must've blinked or something, because the next thing I know we're in the merging lane and bouncing off the limiter. So I shift to 4th, then 6th.
I asked my friend "What the **** just happened?"
He smiled and said "Turbo"
Eventually after me driving around for around 3 hours we get to where we need to be. I realized then that I could drive stick. In an Evo.
I still didn't have the balls to drive my own car. By myself.
One day I let one of my other friends take my car out. And we go driving around and he... forces me, to drive my own car. Backward, up a hill, made out of gravel. To this day the hardest manual maneuver I had to pull. If I let the car roll too far forward there's trees. If I hit the gas too hard, disaster.
So I try my hardest. And I nail it.
That night when we got back to my house, I told him while he was leaving "I have a date tonight." and pointed to the car. Cheesy, yes. But true.
So I took my car out for the first time on my own. To go.. and see my Dana.
Over time, that car became my escape from my problems. That car became my link to sanity. That car, was a symbol, of how awesome everything is. Me and Dana slept in it, more than once. I raced anything and everything I came across, to get away from myself. I became so attached to it, because of how it made me feel.
In June I decided to get a real job. A Job at UPS. Gas was too expensive and I really couldn't afford the car on $0 income. So I got the job really for the car.
I started on June 5th..
June 9th, on my way to work everything went to hell.
It was raining, I spun, got stuck on train tracks.. yeah, you know the story. (There's a thread on it)
But there's one thing I never admitted. There was one piece of the puzzle I intentionally left out. Because it hurt me. More than anything about what happened.
It was entirely my fault. I turned off traction control, to attempt a 180. A move that I've done many times on dry roads.
I failed. I failed myself, and I failed my car.
I never told anyone. ANYONE. Until a month ago, I told Dana.
So now one of my reasons to live, is gone. One of the two things that made me happy.
Post Camaro wreck I began driving my mother's Pontiac Grand Am to work.
First week of July, I wrecked it. Entirely my fault. Took a turn too fast and hit the brakes. Lift off/braking oversteer, spun it, hit a tree stump or something, and basically destroyed the front end.
Remember that Firebird I was going to buy? Yeah, that'd be why I didn't buy it.
I kept that story off GTP entirely, due to how much even further destroyed me. The last thing I needed were people telling me something I already knew:
I couldn't drive for crap.
Between then and a few months ago nothing interesting happened.
I bought a Mustang recently, that's sitting in the garage because I have to pay for it. I've heard tons of speeches about how nothing can happen at all to it. It's something I already know, and something I fear. I just can't take it.
(It'll be registered in like, a week)
But now, I'm to the point where I'm going to lose the other source of happiness. My girlfriend of four years, is sick of my non-emotion. I spent 4 years being cold hearted and she compared me to a "brick wall"
Whenever she would attempt to talk to me about something serious I would always say "I don't care" or whatever other short stupid response I could come up with. I kept all my emotions to myself.
Three weeks ago, she said she was going to break up with me.
Three weeks ago, I changed. I realized that I couldn't keep living the way I am. I can't keep holding my emotions back, until I get to the point of breakdown, like I always do.
I've began being emotional, crying and whatnot. Doing whatever I can to "fix" myself, and our situation.
From my own point of view I'm an entirely different person than I was. I cried over VT. Old me wouldn't have given two craps about it. It had no direct effect on me. But watching whatever news channel I had on, hearing the stories of those who died.. actually got me really upset.
But it doesn't seem good enough for Dana. She's worried that if we're "officially" back together I'll just go back to how I was before. Which I don't believe at all, I've come so far.
I don't know why the hell I'm still writing this. It's too long, it doesn't make sense, it doesn't "belong" on GTP. But you know what? I feel a lot better after writing it. I really do. So I'm going to post it. It's lacking a lot of details, so yeah. Don't expect it to explain everything.
I'll throw in some numbers for good measure:
Attempted Suicides to date: 9
Planned Suicides: 50+
Tonight I had a pretty major reaction from Ozzy on MSN, about how "Dude, the way you acted when I met you, no one would ever know"
He's right. I don't act depressed. Like anyone who is actually clinically depressed.
Anyway, that inspired me to make a thread. Because the first step in repair is admission, right?
For as long as I can remember I've been depressed. It began at around 6th grade, my first year in the local public school, after spending K-5 in the local Catholic school. I decided on my own to make the switch due to no one living around me, and not being able to "hang out" with local kids.
The switch was a complete disaster, I was made fun of constantly. Throughout 6 through 8th grades I had around 5 friends. The same 5.
Upon the switch to High school, I entirely changed myself. From being a complete nerd, I went to a complete.. there really wasn't a term for it at the time, but what you would now call a "goth" but not conventional.
I bought myself a really, really, really long black trench coat and wore black. Always. Freshman year went decent, Sophomore year everything went to hell.
It started by me cutting class. To sleep outside. Once a week, at most, to start.
By the end of November I was kicked out of every class but one, due to never showing up. I spent every day hanging out outside talking to the crossing guard.
After literally telling a teacher to "Go **** Yourself" I was forced to face one of the directors, and he asked me straight out "What the hell is wrong with you?"
My answer was "I ****ing hate my life"
So he figures it out, I'm extremely depressed. I get "removed" from school temporally to go to "Partial" Therapy. I also get put on Paxil.
Partial was me going to the local hospital's therapy area, doing school work for around an hour, and then spending the rest of the day in a group talking about our problems. Once a week, individual therapy.
I considered everything a huge joke, and everyone trying to help me was in it for the money.
About two weeks into partial a new girl shows up. A girl named Dana. A girl who was "into" dealing with her problems through cutting herself. She was fresh out of an inpatient hospital stay.
She was scared to go home at the end of the day, completely hysterical, because she knew when she left she would just hurt herself and end up back in the hospital.
So being the absolute great guy that I am, I just say "How about I go with you, to make sure you don't?"
"Ok"
"What was that?"
"Yes"
"...Really? Wow! I wasn't expecting that"
"hehe"
So I go to her house, just hold her while she's crying and nothing spectacular.
But I fell in love with her. That day. Everything about her fit me.
Around 10PM I called my mother to come and pick me up. She flipped because she had no idea where I was. But she was happy for me, for doing something right for once in my life.
I continued going to her house for the next few days.
On the 3rd day, I confessed that I loved her.
"I feel.. the same way" was her reaction. So, now I have a real girlfriend. A real live girlfriend!
Partial went on as normal until I was drug tested and came up positive for marijuana. Whoops. But I convinced everyone it was a one time experimentation and wouldn't happen again. Which was kind of true.
About two weeks later I get drug tested again and came up positive for PCP. Which was a mistake and I never even meant to do it. It was in a cigar. Long story that's not relevant.
Either way I got put into a drug rehab program as well as still being in partial. Yippie! I'm a drug addict now (even though I wasn't)
Once again, I was surrounded by people whom I didn't fit in with.
Although most of my memories of the rehab are a blur (Thanks Paxil!)
I remember it being pretty crappy.
Eventually the staff at partial deemed me ready to go back to school. A day signified by me wearing a white T-Shirt.
They screwed up. Me going back to school lasted for about 2 weeks, and I got kicked out of all my classes again, and then kicked out of school.
But every day I would walk to the Hospital (Like, 3 blocks away, at most, from the school) to see my Dana at partial. When she could, she'd walk with me home to my house, where we'd hang out and do whatever.
When I was kicked out of school they put me on home schooling for the rest of the year. And god damn, that was awesome. 3 days a week, one hour a day, each day a different subject.
Apparently I did so well in home schooling I actually passed for the year. Shocking.
For Junior year I was transfered to an alternative school. A school for the mentally ill. I fit in perfect, since everyone else had way worse problems than I did.
From constantly running away from home to kids who's parents beat the living crap out of them for no good reason. Me hating myself was pretty minor.
During the summer between Junior year and Senior year I got a job at a gas station. Most of my memories of which are a blur. (Paxil) But I wound up with a broken nose one night (Which is crooked to this day), and eventually, planted a Mazda B4200 into a house. Which sucked, obviously. There's a thread on it. I've only recently gotten over it. In my eyes it put me in an even worse mental state than I was already in.
So Senior year was my best and worst school year ever.
I stopped doing classwork and instead took naps. Awesome naps. I had a teacher bet me that I couldn't sleep standing up. A bet that I won.
During Junior year we had a room we could smoke in during 10 minute breaks, Senior year they removed that.
So I became really good friends with the janitor, because he'd come to whatever class I was in and say he needed my help. So we'd do some stupid thing that he definitely didn't need me for, and he'd take me outside to smoke.
Eventually I just started going out on my own. I nailed proper timing and never got in trouble for it, while a lot of copycats did.
By the end of the year I was doing janitorial work for grades. I built a radio for Spanish class, a Bookshelf for English class, a telegraph for Math. Don't ask me how any of those relate to each other. I don't care, it helped me pass.
I graduated (barely).
Now it was time to face the real world. Without having solved any issues that I've had.
In September 2005, as a graduation present, I was given something major. Something I will never forget.
A Polo Green Metallic, 1997 Chevrolet Camaro Z28 M6. That I picked out myself.
A car that I had 3 months before getting my license. So it sat in the driveway. Then I got my license in December and still didn't drive it because of my lack of courage due to the Mazda incident. Plus I couldn't drive stick.
Me and my father went to the mall parking lot twice, to teach me stick, I just didn't really have the balls to drive on the street. But he called me "Impressive"
One of my friends at the time just randomly showed up to my house in January and said "Help me move" I said "Alright.. how?" Threw me the keys to his car and said "You're driving"
"What? Are you sure?"
"Yes go start the car up idiot"
The car wasn't just any old car. This car, was a 2006 Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution IX MR.
The whole event was a turning point in my life. It was a do or die situation. Face my fear and drive a manual car, on the street.
So hey what the hell, It's an Evo!
I take it around the block, no cars around, it's fine I can slip the clutch as slow as I want.
But after two stop sign turns, we have to merge on a highway. 90 degree turn to a 55mph or so constant speed.
Very daunting, to me. So I slip the clutch turn and gun it.
I must've blinked or something, because the next thing I know we're in the merging lane and bouncing off the limiter. So I shift to 4th, then 6th.
I asked my friend "What the **** just happened?"
He smiled and said "Turbo"
Eventually after me driving around for around 3 hours we get to where we need to be. I realized then that I could drive stick. In an Evo.
I still didn't have the balls to drive my own car. By myself.
One day I let one of my other friends take my car out. And we go driving around and he... forces me, to drive my own car. Backward, up a hill, made out of gravel. To this day the hardest manual maneuver I had to pull. If I let the car roll too far forward there's trees. If I hit the gas too hard, disaster.
So I try my hardest. And I nail it.
That night when we got back to my house, I told him while he was leaving "I have a date tonight." and pointed to the car. Cheesy, yes. But true.
So I took my car out for the first time on my own. To go.. and see my Dana.
Over time, that car became my escape from my problems. That car became my link to sanity. That car, was a symbol, of how awesome everything is. Me and Dana slept in it, more than once. I raced anything and everything I came across, to get away from myself. I became so attached to it, because of how it made me feel.
In June I decided to get a real job. A Job at UPS. Gas was too expensive and I really couldn't afford the car on $0 income. So I got the job really for the car.
I started on June 5th..
June 9th, on my way to work everything went to hell.
It was raining, I spun, got stuck on train tracks.. yeah, you know the story. (There's a thread on it)
But there's one thing I never admitted. There was one piece of the puzzle I intentionally left out. Because it hurt me. More than anything about what happened.
It was entirely my fault. I turned off traction control, to attempt a 180. A move that I've done many times on dry roads.
I failed. I failed myself, and I failed my car.
I never told anyone. ANYONE. Until a month ago, I told Dana.
So now one of my reasons to live, is gone. One of the two things that made me happy.
Post Camaro wreck I began driving my mother's Pontiac Grand Am to work.
First week of July, I wrecked it. Entirely my fault. Took a turn too fast and hit the brakes. Lift off/braking oversteer, spun it, hit a tree stump or something, and basically destroyed the front end.
Remember that Firebird I was going to buy? Yeah, that'd be why I didn't buy it.
I kept that story off GTP entirely, due to how much even further destroyed me. The last thing I needed were people telling me something I already knew:
I couldn't drive for crap.
Between then and a few months ago nothing interesting happened.
I bought a Mustang recently, that's sitting in the garage because I have to pay for it. I've heard tons of speeches about how nothing can happen at all to it. It's something I already know, and something I fear. I just can't take it.
(It'll be registered in like, a week)
But now, I'm to the point where I'm going to lose the other source of happiness. My girlfriend of four years, is sick of my non-emotion. I spent 4 years being cold hearted and she compared me to a "brick wall"
Whenever she would attempt to talk to me about something serious I would always say "I don't care" or whatever other short stupid response I could come up with. I kept all my emotions to myself.
Three weeks ago, she said she was going to break up with me.
Three weeks ago, I changed. I realized that I couldn't keep living the way I am. I can't keep holding my emotions back, until I get to the point of breakdown, like I always do.
I've began being emotional, crying and whatnot. Doing whatever I can to "fix" myself, and our situation.
From my own point of view I'm an entirely different person than I was. I cried over VT. Old me wouldn't have given two craps about it. It had no direct effect on me. But watching whatever news channel I had on, hearing the stories of those who died.. actually got me really upset.
But it doesn't seem good enough for Dana. She's worried that if we're "officially" back together I'll just go back to how I was before. Which I don't believe at all, I've come so far.
I don't know why the hell I'm still writing this. It's too long, it doesn't make sense, it doesn't "belong" on GTP. But you know what? I feel a lot better after writing it. I really do. So I'm going to post it. It's lacking a lot of details, so yeah. Don't expect it to explain everything.
I'll throw in some numbers for good measure:
Attempted Suicides to date: 9
Planned Suicides: 50+
Ive never known or seen someone with depression but we were talking about it at school today and it does seem like a hard thing to go through.
