LETS ALL LAUGH AT PEOPLE WITH DEPRESSION!!

I've had depression for many years. I'm an expert at fitting in and acting positive. The difference is that a happy person enjoys being happy, a depressed person feels like they've run a marathon after acting happy in front of people for the day.

The more depressed you are, the bigger the effort to act normal and the worse you feel when you take off the mask.

So, first time posting here, they say that writing things down can help, so I thought I'd share with the group!

I've had depression on and off for years, went through a few years of feeling fairly content and thought those days were behind me. A few things happened, each of which I guess you'd call a major life event, one thing could crush you, I had three in a row! lost my dad, lost my business and broke up with my fiance!

all of these things made me sad, which is natural, but looking back, I guess I didn't deal with them properly. About a year or so after the last thing happened, I started to get a feeling that I hadn't had since I used to have depression before. It was a kind of mania where my mind races, I started to think about all kinds of weird stuff like I wanted to quit my job and head to India, or I wanted to sail the world. Each of these thoughts completely engrossed me one by one for more than a week, couldn't concentrate on anything else, like living in a day dream.

That seems to happen to me before the depression hits, each and every time, the weird thing is that when it happens, it never registers with me as a sign that the fall is coming :-) I don't know if I'm describing it well, it's not manic per se, or bi-polar, the best way I can figure it is that my brain sees what's coming and tries to fight back.

Anyway, I went to bed one night and couldn't sleep, my mind was racing on all this stuff, but the thoughts started to turn to the bad things that had happened, in particular my ex leaving me. That was when I had the mother of all anxiety attacks, I've never felt anything like it. My rational mind knew that it wasn't normal but I couldn't stop it, just got worse and worse like the adrenalin tap was stuck open. After pacing the room for a while and searching the house for alcohol, I went for a run (not something I'd normally do) to try to tire myself out so I could sleep, I ran until my feet blistered and I was puking! Next morning I pulled a sickie, went back to my mothers house and told her what had happened, I phoned the GP and made an appointment.

He put me on lexapro, which didn't agree with me, then effexor which was horrible! (I should point out that this is my experience of anti-depressants, they work really well for some people) I also have some Xanax for emergencies. I stopped the antidepressants and just avoided my problem for a while, felt like **** every day, just couldn't function, I managed to keep up with work and social life, but I was putting on a front every day, I was just so tired when I got home each day, faking it from morning to night really takes it out of you! I was totally frustrated, I'm a smart guy and I just couldn't think my way out of this, no matter how logical my mental argument against anxiety and depression was, it just didn't help

The GP gave me the number for a psychologist when I saw him, that number sat by my bed for a long time before I called and made my first appointment (another major anxiety attack spurred me on to phone him).

I've had a few sessions now and it's tough, really draining, every minute of it is difficult, but I haven't had a bad anxiety attack in a while now (thanks xanax!) and I'm starting to deal with some repressed stuff, I told a friend that I was seeing someone, he asked me to describe it, the best way I could was this, it's like going to a physiotherapist with an injury, you've been limping for weeks and avoiding dealing with it and it's just not going away, the physio finds the most painful area and pokes and prods until you're nearly in tears, you swear you'll never go back, but the next day the muscle feels a bit better, each visit is tough, but the next day you always know its worth it.

So now it's one day at a time, I still feel ****ty, but at least now I have some help, this period of my life is the first time that depression has really taken over, where I don't really see an end to it, I'm hoping that that kind of thinking will change in time.

To anybody on this thread, don't suffer alone, there is help out there but no one is going to knock on your door to offer it. I understand that going to a doctor/Councillor/whatever is a very very difficult step, but for me its been worth it. It's a long post, but I wrote it in the hope that if there are others that have felt this way, they know that they are not alone :-)

It’s been two years since diagnosis. Six months since rock bottom. And a matter of hours since “**** it, what’s the point?”

I don’t get why I’m still here, acting as if things are mostly ok and that taking a little pill every night magically makes everything better. I still can’t talk to family about it because it’s too awkward. I can’t even be honest with my GP anymore because she thinks I’m improving and I don’t want to let her down. How ridiculous is that?

I never feel like I’m sick enough. Why have psychiatrists not yet told me that I have bipolar disorder? Or borderline personality disorder? Or schizophrenia? Or…..something? Regular plain old depression just doesn’t feel like enough anymore.

I should be out getting drunk, getting high, smoking anything that’s fits into skins, not giving a **** about any consequences. I should be starving myself and then binge eating until I throw up. I should be slicing my arms with a knife or a razor just to prove that I’M NOT ****ING OKAY.

Instead I stay at home like a good little boy and bottle everything up like good little boys do. The internet is my only outlet for frustration now and there’s only so much sexygirl123 on thisisaforum.com can help you with stuff like this.

It’d be easier if my family didn’t care about me; then I’d have no problem self destructing like I’m supposed to. It’d be easier if I had no friends or family at all because I could just kill myself without any guilt. Right now the most I can do is stab myself with a red pen and act as if the ink is blood.

I can’t say how I really feel, how angry I am that “mild depression” is all I’ve ever been diagnosed with. I can never get over how angry I am with the college lecturers who let me down and made me feel like an idiot, the selfish exes with the worst sense of timing in the world, anyone whose life is easier than mine and anyone whose life is harder than mine.

Most of all though, I get angry at myself. A lot. Even over the littlest things; like if I can’t finish a Sudoku puzzle or if I go wrong somewhere, or if I can’t do the numbers game on Countdown or if I only get a six letter word instead of a seven. Clearly stuff like that happens because I’m a ****ing idiot who doesn’t deserve to be alive. And every time I think of my degree and wish to God I could go back in time and do it all again, I say to myself “Four years of your life gone. Congratulations on being a bigger underachiever than anyone could have predicted.”

I feel like I don’t do enough to let the world know just how much I hate myself and how often I really wish I could just fall asleep and not wake up again.

But, then again, this time next week I’ll be in grand form and everything will be looking up and people will say I clearly don’t have a problem in the world.

I don’t know how to fix what I can’t identify as being wrong. And I honestly can’t wait around much longer to figure out what needs to be done before it’s too late. 2012 is make or break; it’s either gonna be the best year of my life. Or the year I finally give up any hope of the future for good.

irelandspurs wrote: »

Is life insurance void if suicide is the cause of death?