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Re: A Life Gone Very Wrong hrtlm

Posted by galtin on September 30, 2001, at 23:58:27

In reply to A Life Gone Very Wrong, posted by hrtlm on September 26, 2001, at 20:28:32

> I don't even know where to begin. There's a line from a song: I never knew my life would break my heart. I am truly broken, both inside and out. I am so full of hate and fear. Anger that I can't control. Thoughts that haunt me and will not go away. Things were never supposed to be this way.
>
> I could type 40 pages here, but I truly can't put into words just how bad things are. I have hit bottom, at least more of a bottom than I've ever experienced before (I fear that things will, in fact, get worse though.), and yet I don't feel that inspiration to change, take action. I am paralyzed with fear.
>
> I'm probably not making any sense here. I guess what I'm asking for here is some sharing of experiences. What was the worst for you? What did you hold on to to keep yourself alive? I'm not talking about a much needed med change nor tales of one simply picking oneself up by the bootstraps. I'm talking about things like have you yelled at God, do you hate him the way I do? How do you go on after finally realizing that God (I don't know why I even capitalize that word anymore.) has abandoned you? The worst part is that I believe bery much in God. I wish that I could believe he doesn't exist. My decisions would then be much easier. But I refuse to bend to him, to ask him for any favors. I am tired of begging. So, if I hate God and I refuse to follow him, then why put mnyself out of my misery here on earth, only to begin an eternity of suffering? That is true damnation.
>
> It's not about simply being depressed. It's about how I have ruined everything. My life is beyond repair. There is a very big difference between having a life and being depressed at the same time and the utter despair that you feel when you realize that you are now changed. You have thrown things away that can't be recovered. If I had a house, a job, someone to love and be loved by, things would be different. It would then be all about how do I cope so that I can enjoy the life I have? My situation is very different. I truly have nothing other than a mother and a father that suffer from mental illness. They love me the best that they can. But it's not enough. Their love has no effect on me other than that of making me hate myself for not being able to make them happy. They deserve a lot. They will never have it. I was supposed to give it to them. I was supposed to find their happiness for them. Yet another thing I have fucked up. Not only have I not helped them, but they see my anguish and they blame themselves. I truly miss the days when I could fool them - make them think that I was content. And yet, they have no idea how dark my insides are. They have no idea that I curse the very God that they worship.
>
> I can't get help. Nobody will believe me. They will not understand. I CAN'T MAKE ANYBODY UNDERSTAND! It is too profound.
>
> I do not need any more "Things will look up." - any more "You need to try a different medication." - any more "This is your depression talking." - any more "I love you, but I have to go." - any more "How can you expect to get better when you won't do what you need to do to get better." - any more "I am worried about you."
>
> I just need to have never existed. Simply ceasing to exist from this point on will not fix anything. It all just needs to have never happened. All of it. Me.

You have gotten good advice from other posters, so I will stick to my own experience.

Your post scared me, bringing back memories of when I felt pretty much as you describe. And bringing the reminder that I may be in these straits again. When I felt the worst I became nearly silent, because my voice lost its ability to project further than my nose anything I uttered. It felt like a vortex of suction allowed only whispers to escape. I do remember one time I shouted in despair. My parents were visiting, supportive, concerned and wanting desperately to help. When my mother asked what she could do, I screamed at her, in a hoarse, strangled voice, "Go get a gun so I can kill myself." This level of despair stayed with me for several months, during which doctors tried one medication after another, convincing me, in their bafflement, that I was incurable.


I don't know how I endured this period. I wish I could say it was my sense of responsibility to my wife and children, or an underlying hope that I would someday get better, or the tenacity of my fighting spirit. But it was none of these. I did not have a capacity to care about anything or anyone. I wish I could give God some credit At the time I was a full-time ordained minister. I didn't blame God for my condition. I just did not think about God or care about him one way or another. God was a paltry reality compared with the storm raging away inside my skull. The worst times were when I was leading worship and the contrast between the words I was saying and how I felt inside seemed to accentuate the despair. I would feel a moment away from exploding into a thousand shards of glass.

As best I can understand it now, I got up each day and made the decision that on this day, at least, I would not kill myself. I never committed myself beyond the day at hand. Second, I fought against my nearly overwhelming desire to cut off all contact with other people. Lastly, I maintained a routine the best I could--getting out of bed, showering, eating, doing what work I could. Occasionally I spent a day in bed, curled up into a tight fetal position, keeping my eyes closed even when I was awake. But I don't think I ever spent two consecutive days like this. If I was headed in this direction,people came over and rousted me out from under the sheets and blankets. I hated them.

It is so hard to describe, isn't it? Somebody once told me that depression fosters despair. Not for me. For me, depression WAS despair. It was the pure extract of fear was being poured into my mind, an active and unrelenting doom that promised death. Every day I fixated on my worthlessness. I knew I was the most loathsome person on earth. I was powerless to turn my mind in any other direction.

That was several years ago. Since then I have felt all sorts of things, some unpleasant, but been free of serious depression.

I could talk about meds and counseling, about finding a good psychiatrist,about foresaking drink, about supportive friends, but at bottom I do not know how or why I got better. And I do not know what it means--that I was so sick and then got better. I suspect it means nothing. I do know, however, that I felt as you do, but don't any longer.

Keep moving and don't give up.


galtin


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