Can't stop isolating myself...

I joined PC after a very long reclusive "spell" of avoiding interaction with anyone (besides immediate family), including interaction with people on the internet. Every time I lapsed into a major depressive phase I would tell myself, "I need to talk to people. I need to share what I'm going through and relate to others", and here I am again, depressed as all get out, and it feels every word I type I'm fighting against an invisible force that wants to keep me silent. I don't know what to say, I worry that people will think I'm strange (if I'm perfectly honest with myself, I kind of am), I worry that no one will care. I worry that I'm beyond damaged and talking about my pain and problems won't lead to the catharsis I crave. I worry that someday I'm going to snap (lose my mind) and that will be that. Refractory depression runs in my family. Family members have committed suicide, they've been on every medicinal cocktail possible, they've been through a string of therapists over the course of their lives, they've tried ECT, the list goes on. My family is literally cursed with depression and mental illness - it just won't go away. Or remit. It gets progressively worse with age, no matter what anyone does. I don't have the will to try the meds and therapy again...why should I? I've already seen how this story ends. It's acute pain and suffering until the very end. I feel doomed. I've already sacrificed so much of my life, alone, afraid and despairing. I've lost out on the opportunity to have a family of my own; I've lost out on establishing myself in the professional world; I don't even want to think about my dating prospects. I'm a drain on society, a non-productive citizen. I have no purpose in life; I live to exist. I can't even touch the bottom of my self-loathing, it runs so deep.

Where on earth am I supposed to go from here?

I don't know where you--or I--am supposed to go. I'm not sure there's any "supposed" about it. But if there is, there's gonna be a whole hell of a lot of us when we get there.

I could have written most of your post. My genetics virtually guarantees an early death--if not from suicide, then from stroke or heart attack. Oh, yes, and if I live a little longer I'm very likely to have a case of Alzheimer's.

The one thing I couldn't have written was, "I've already seen how this story ends." I haven't. You haven't. Everything points to dismal, but so much can change that.

What if just the right T comes along--for either or both of us? Someone with whom we really click, whose training & experience all culminated in this work. What if we found the right psychiatrist, someone from the right school with the right insights & the knowledge of meds to find the exact cocktail we need to balance out our brain chemistry?

I do from time to time see or hear about miracles, often very small ones. I know they do sometimes happen. I do think that maybe there will be one if I do my part: work with the t & pdoc, try the meds, work my program.

I know what happens if I give up. I guess I'm still curious about what happens if I don't. Aren't you?

I'm glad you're reaching out on PC...I get really reclusive too and know that reaching out is what I need at those bad times, but it's always the last thing I want to do. Hang in there. We're all in this together.

That's the nuttiest thing of all: a tiny part of me doesn't believe I'm doomed, refuses to believe it, actually. So, yes, I am somewhat curious about the possibilities. I still can't help thinking the odds are stacked against me. For one, I live in a rural area and mental health services are very limited here, so it isn't worth my time or energy to seek out professional assistance at the moment. I'll be moving sometime in the next several months (I can no longer afford to live by myself and am in the process of making alternative arrangements), so I'd rather wait until I'm relocated...though that leaves a lot of time for moping and wallowing in the interim. It makes the most sense, though.

Secondly, and most importantly, good pdocs and tdocs don't accept Medicaid (in my admittedly limited experience, but you hear/read things). I've not only had my own MI burden to deal with, I've had to tolerate bullying, condescension, apathy and incompetence from third-rate mental health professionals who were, allegedly, supposed to help me. Even the hardiest soul would've given up if they'd been the recipient of the kind of "help" I've received. (Yes, I am bitter. Better bitter than believe I'm not worth better has become my catch phrase.) How many times am I supposed to put my hand on the stove and hope the burner isn't on? I've become much too skittish. I don't ever want to go through that again. I can't handle one more bad experience, and that isn't the depression talking. I know what my limitations are.

You mentioned miracles...well, that's what I need. I don't suppose there's a miracle store around here somewhere...I'd sell my soul for one right about now.

I think the best I can probably hope for is to research the meds myself and make an aggressive sales pitch for the ones that seem the most appropriate. Aggressive anything isn't really my style, though. I hate confrontation and don't want to get into a debate with a doctor over a treatment plan. Everyone says you have to advocate for yourself, make yourself heard, demand quality care, but between the depression and social anxiety, how am I supposed to do that?

I'm sorry for unloading, I'm just very, very, very confused. Frustrated. Angry. Fearful. I start thinking about this stuff and it takes on tsunami proportions, comes crashing down on me and leaves my psyche in tattered ribbons. I feel so stuck and hate feeling that way; that's when resignation starts to look appealing.

I love your quote about the energy it requires to appear normal. If only they knew, huh? It's a job in and of itself.

I saw a Mark Twain quote in a magazine today that went something like, The best way to cheer yourself up is to try to cheer up others. You've helped me and I hope, by extension, you've helped yourself a little too.

(((((((((((((( jitters ))))))))))))))

Jitters, hang on to that glimmer of hope. I'm glad you know it is there. When I was depressed I just holed up at home too. I also did not want to have to put on a happy face. (torturous) I was perfectly happy to zone out on TV (my drug of choice). I'm sorry you have received terrible mental help. Can you try another route to find better doctors? What about online? I know PC has a list of docs who can counsel by phone etc. I got my grief therapy by phone. Please don't give up trying to find the right doctor.

Actually my all-time favorite T was my Medicaid T. She was a black woman from Detroit and I was from a notoriously white suburb. She understood my situation and helped me in ways no one else ever did. So they ARE out there. On the other hand, my Medicaid internist, by changing my cholesterol medication and not testing my blood often enough, almost gave me stroke.

I found a therapist look-up in the resources section, so that's something I'll definitely utilize when the time comes (after I've moved closer to the big city, where doctors are more plentiful, thank goodness!).

I'm amazed, but your example has really given me hope. Thank you, (((hankster))), for sharing that with me. Sorry about the internist (yikes!). I always wonder how much GPs and internists really know about the meds they prescribe...not enough, I think.

Fuzzybear, I can't look at your hula-ing bear without smiling :-) I think it should be the depression board mascot.

How are you guys inserting emoticons into your posts, btw? I really miss having emoticons to work with.

re emoticons - I always have to do it the old-fashioned way anyway on my phone, either spell them out with a leading and ending colon : eg
dancingchilli

or a colon right-paren etc but I HATE that ghost chili! I liked the old one!

Click the "add reply" button on the bottom left of the last message. Then type away. The "quick reply" has less emoticon options.