[dimbroane]

Hi there

I am a 37 yo male - how have I managed to live that much? that's something that I've been asking myself for a while now.
I suspect this presentation will be a pretty long one, so if you need some popcorns/beer you'd better get them now; anyway all my gratitude for those who survived until the end of it.
And excuse my English, it's the second language.

1. My childhood

Horrible. Parents didn't get along with each other, physical fights which I witnessed, too demanding father who made me feel sort of inappropriate for his expectations, sick mother, etc.
I'm saying "inappropriate" in so far intelligence is concerned; he was an extremely bright person, PhD at the of 21, Sorbonne Law School, etc. What I remember is that when I was three or four he struggled to make me sign my name and I couldn't understand how to draw the letters onto the papers - in which second he rushed out of the room banging the door. I disappointed him. As a result, he showed little interest in my education, development and so on. He would rather lie in bed all day long, reading and writing.
Well, as my father distanced himself from me, my mother started to play me around him, like he doesn't love me, I don't need him, etc. Once he was so sick that he need hospitalisation - it happened to be his birthday and, if you could imagine, my mother didn't visit him - poor man spent his birthday alone in a hospital cage. Eventually he had an overnight heart attack and died and I discovered him the morning after lying motionless in bed.

My mother always wanted a girl; she had given me a girlie name before even gave me birth. I imagine she was disappointed too, why on earth am I not a girl? Well, she tried to rectify that, so she used to dress me up in robes, call me "my little precious doll" and let my hair grow long. She went that far that once, while walking along the street and encountering a neighbour, when he remarked "what a beautiful and delicate girl you have", my own mother grinned with satisfaction. I can remember that. I can remember that I was a bit confused, mother, but am I not a boy?
Whatever.

At the age of six, I started to stutter. It was so bad, that they took to a psychologist to examine him. What an irony - the psychologist found me mentally inept, to say the least. To put it bluntly, she said I'm a bit retarded. A bit too much. That much that my parents should be happy to see me sawing or doing something fairly basic. I didn't have the mental ability to cope with the intellectual effort. I guess she was right. Poor thing!

With all this, I started the school. I remember the first day: the teacher asked us to draw something on a sheet of paper, and the first to finish would get an A. I rushed and made all sort of mistakes that I tried in vain too erase; whatever, point is I couldn't finish at all. But I took the sheet of paper to my mother, who asked me, well how was your first day? - and I handed to her the miserable sheet of paper and I can still visualise her figure. Poor child, what did you expect - to discover the cancer drug?

2. My adolescence.

After my father died, my mother had a shock (?!) and went straight to a mental institution for several months; she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder (later I found that this had been running for long in the family) and eventually went on retirement.
Point is, at the age of 13 I started to have erections, you know, like all normal boys and my mother indoctrinated me not to commit the capital sin and relief myself as I could go blind. Instead we prayed to dear God to take away this malfunction.

I was invited by this friend of mine, a neighbour, to his place, to play something, watch television and so on. While I was sitting on the couch he made his apparition next to me, completely naked, with an enormous penis in erection and asked me to undress and do the thing. Funny is that rather than running away screaming I got shy to take off my underwear before him and show him my little snake. But he persuaded me and of course I accepted it. It wasn't any penetration as such, but I took that episode as a flame next to powder gun. It went off and I realised that this is what I was meant to be: a gay.

Years and years after I consumed my fantasy privately, as eventually we moved houses and didn't meet that boy again. I played with myself, simulating all sorts of sexual activities, especially masochistic ones. I'll spare you the details, they are rather foetid, but point is that as my frustrations went bigger and bigger (not having a partner to consume them with) so my fantasies; they became morbid with an accent on degradation and self-humiliation. Something that I experimented at school with my mates laughing at me, stuttering, calling me names and beating me up occasionally.

Interesting is that my first porn that I saw, at the age of 15-16, was a revelation to me. I saw myself in all those object-woman, abused and possessed by veracious males. Forgot to tell you that a colleague brought the video at our place and we all watch it together. Including my mother. In fact, she made it a condition to be present, otherwise no film.

Once, my mother accused me of stealing money and I tried to kill myself, but bustards got me in time. Being so coward, I swallowed sleeping pills, about 20 of them, so I got to bed quickly and become non-respondent. So they brought me back. Why did they do that? Can I sue those guys?

No friend of mine was good enough for me. All had defects and my mother pushed them away. However, I made a few friends, normal friendship, you know and with a bright guy I developed a sound friendship. And it was his birthday, he was 18 and he threw a mega-party and all our friends were invited and we had fun and a great time and the phone started to ring. My friend picked it up. It was my mother - you come at home at once, how dare you be away from home without my permission. You come at home this very minute, or I'll make you come. You hear? The party stopped and everybody looked at me like at zombie or something. I mumbled an excuse and went away.

My mother told me once that I killed my father. He died because I made him unhappy.

Well, I meet a girl once, I was 19 or something and we wanted to have sex, of course, but I couldn't. It could've been the first time for me. And there I sat, ashamed with myself and watching her laughing at me, he-he, super-macho, er? I realised I'd better give up trying to be "normal"
So I started looking for a sex-body, a boy-friend, and I had quite a few.

3. Life as an adult.

Years went along and, irrespective of my mental handicap, I started the University and the first four (out of five) years went remarkably fine, with me being an A+ student. I guess I liked what I studied. I wasn't alone, I had several boyfriends and sex was good, I guess. But time was for me to meet another girl, with whom I had sex and it was great, I was normal, can you imagine? I fell in love with her, but she wasn't good enough for my mother. Months after I started to miss my sexual fantasies and effectively started a dual life. Man for my girlfriend and woman for my boyfriends.

My studies went fantastically well until such time that University practically ended and we took a three months break to prepare our final thesis and study for the most important exams: the license ones. This is when I broke up and I couldn't do practically anything. My professor, who knew me well gave me a pass. What a merciful attitude, but I finished my Uni in desolation.

I found a great job and essentially started my life as a mentally disturbed person, having had acute manic-sexual episodes followed by remorse and guilt. Here I would watch hours of porn and purchase tons of DVD, just to throw them away the next day, only to start again several weeks later. Intense sexual crisis when I longed for a man, only to retreat when I got him.
Years passed and found my wife, but couldn't cease my habits and fantasies. I left my mother's house when I was 28 and tried to be normal, but I failed I guess.
I got married and decided to migrate at antipodes and start a new life from scratch. I made the mistake to arrive here all by myself and settle down things for my wife to come over a few months later. Fact is that, when I realised that I was alone, I broke again, and found refuge in gay venues and porn.
Here, I couldn't get a job at all for several months and started to lose my minds slowly seeing me bankrupt begging for a bread, but eventually I got jobs in cleaning, etc. I was offered the permanent job in a factory, doing night-shifts as unskilled labourer. It last for eight months and destroyed the very last sane fibre that was left in me. Imagine, to work ten hours each night, four nights a week, and trying to catch up with rest during the day. Impossible. I became a zombie with several poor hours a day sleep.

But God was merciful and I got a job in my field. And, God, I proved myself. So much, that I worked nights and days and weekends, at times doing 72 hours in a row. I put on weight, the cholesterol rocketed and I saw myself, obese, gasping for air, at the age of 35, facing a heart attach soon to come.
So I started to exercise and slow down the work a bit. Now I could run half marathon and am in a pretty good shape, still overweight, but acceptably.

But sexual fantasies were still there. So my visits to gay venues, when all the desired went away when I was about to engage in sex. And there I was running away in shame and guilt, only to come back the next day. And this is how the cycles went along. With highs when I was sexually a monster and lows, when I tried to be normal. Eventually I confessed to my wife what I had been doing and she kicked me out. And she was pregnant. And once again I was alone, but I deserved it. I did whatever it took to come back again together and I was successful, as she forgave me without forgetting what I did.

But fantasies were still there, repressed deep down in my core.
And I couldn't sleep and the sleeplessness brought me before my GP, who put me on Prozac, to start with 20mg a day. Now, I have 60mg a day plus 20mg Seroquel before going to bed, just to be able to sleep at all.
Now, after two years of medication, Prozac diminished a bit my sexual compulsions (which are very much still there, albeit more benign and short lasting), but brought on long periods of depression, sadness and emptiness. Which are cut off by inexplicable joy and happiness, where I dance on the street, sing aloud and talk for hours. Me, a socially avoidant type of guy, talking. Quite unusual - my colleagues are at times a bit frightened.

I don't have friends, I hate society. But in the same time I long for friends and life. I love my family and hate it, because it made me feel trapped. I have a son, a gorgeous one, I adore him, but am so afraid I'm a terrible father for him.
There is only white and black, nothing in between. And a strong sense of perfection - everything has to be perfect, so whatever I start, there're few chances to finish...And sexual compulsions are still here, all in extreme, bizarre perversions and so on. As my mother put it once - you're a pervert, masturbation and porn, you'll become a blind idiot. And rot in hell.

I can't take it any longer. Prozac is good, but not good enough. It doesn't supress my mood swings and sexual fantasies. It makes me fat, despite of mine exercising a lot. I cannot sleep in absence of medication and early mornings I'm drouzy and sleepy and don't want to go to work. I cannot study and I must, as I want to take another important certification to help me boost my career.

I saw psychiatrists. A few. Ah, er, mood swings, carry on with Prozac and will be fine. I saw a psychotherapist who made me realise who is behind all my problems. But she didn't want to admit I have a problem. And I do. Now she's in maternity leave, so bye-bye psychotherapy.
I would say I have a bipolar disorder and potentially borderline personality. I have an appointment in few weeks with another psychiatrist, maybe I'll get diagnosed start from somewhere.

Well, thank you for reading that much, I take a break now. Have taken my seroquel and wait to get sleepy and go to bed. Tomorrow another day is up.
I would be so grateful to get to know other persons with similar condition and share experiences and info.

So long! <font color="#000088"> </font>

Gosh how brave to write it al down, I admire you so much, itmust have taken a lot of bottle to face your demons like that. I can offer a shoulder and my ears anytime, You have been through such a lot.
Different problems, but sexual and emotional abuse all my life basically, bad relationship with my mother also, not particularly good with my father either. that we have in common.
I see you as a strong, articulate person, you sound as though you have gone from strength to strength, it takes a lot of courage to do what you have done, feel free to pm me anytime, you have found a good support site here at pc.

love, Jinnyannxoxoxoxoxo

[dimbroane]

Thank you Jinnyann!
It took me twenty years to realise that something has to be wrong. I guess that the psychotherapy (in conjunction with medication) that I undertook changed the pattern of the issues I confront with. Plus the lifestyle I had, with so many worries and anxieties over practically anything. I guess that relocation to NZ was a traumatic experience in itself.
Whatever the case may be, it has to stop one way or another, as I cannot continue this way. Each morning I wake up like I was going to bet butchered or something, with no enthusiasm at all for anything. Medication must be wrong. I wish I could stop taking all those pills and start living again.
Have no idea what those sexual compulsions would lead to. I understand why there are in my brain, thanks to psychotherapy. That's something I'd like to discuss about. Is it there's a gender identity issue? Hell knows.
Thank you for your positive thoughts.
U

I too am on anti depressants, my story has been published on the psych central personal story board, don't know how you get to it. there is so much more, just condensed it. I know how you feel, sort of, I was on Prozac and it nearly killed me, made me have suicidal thoughts, not the same for everyone though. I have a Therapist now, she is great, but I'm re-living everything at the moment and feel like I'm between 8 and 15 somewhere at the moment. I am 42!!! Just another positive note, people who go through such trauma in life, always end up caring, compassionate people, so something good came out for us both I'd say.

Take care my friend, speak soon

Jinny/Kerry xoxoxoxoxoxo

[mydarlin]

Well I recon I can add my two cents worth...I have been on Prozac for about 8 years now...When I first started taking it...omg it was like the miracle drug, but slowly the depression came back and the manic episodes also. I was acting out sexually and really didn't care who I hurt in the process, most of all myself. I think that the saying "to thine own self be true" is the best way to look at life as we know it. We must take care of ourselves before we can take care of others.
As far as your mother goes, I think that Freud was probably on to something when he said that all of our problems come from our mothers.

My T suggested that I write a letter to my mother (don't mail it) telling her all the problems that she caused me in my life. I haven't been able to bring myself to write it yet, but I think of it often.
Currently I am taking Lamactil (going up to 200mg next month) and abilify 15 mg. I am supposed to still be taking my prozac (80 mg) and the topamax (200 mg) but I can't afford them so I picked the drugs that I thought would do me the best....all of this through research. Right now I feel like I am making headway with my problems and mood swings..who knows what tomorrow will bring. We just have to live life one day at a time. Maybe you could do a bit of research for your self (there is a drug link here on psych central and there are links to information about various diseases not to mention the quizzes that you can take to help diagnose your problem...but remember you shouldn't diagnose yourself...let your pdoc do that.). Take the information that you have come up with and show your pdoc...it could be your saving grace.

You are truely a brave soul to pour your heart out here...even with the anonomity that is provided here.

sorry bout getting on mine....