[Shakespearmint]

Hello fellow humans. I assume if you're here then you, too, are struggling with depression or have in the past and I am seeking your input.
I am 23 years old; female. I have a full-time job, but I'll be talking more about that in a minute. I'm here because I am drowning in my depression and anxiety. They've always come hand-in-hand for me and my family members, like having an angel on one shoulder and a demon on the other. Except they're both demons--they just give me different bad advice. My emotions have always been a battle for me. I'm very intelligent and it's one of the few positive things I can and will admit about myself. I've always done great on tests and class participation in school, though I never turned in homework. I suppose my parents never saw it as a red flag for depression, but looking back I can clearly trace the dep/anx's slow upheaval of my life. It started with never doing homework. I was in very strict Christian schools until 3rd grade when we split from that part of our family and moved out of state. Once in public school, I excelled because of my smarts but was teased quite a lot because of my weight and bookish tendencies. By middle school, getting up and heading off to class every day was the biggest source of anxiety in my life. I quickly became a pro at manipulating my parents into letting me stay home. Because of that, my high school years were marked by frequent truancy threats from the school that regrettably my sister adopted as well, following in my footsteps as she always did.

I made it through high school through a combination of outstanding test scores and an ability to sweet talk my teachers. They could see how smart I was, how much I cared about learning, so they cut me so much slack. I rarely turned in homework, including even my senior research paper, which through a little side-skirting of my own and a convenient unexpected teacher-swap mid year, the school just decided it was lost and didn't make me re-write it. I got a perfect score on my writing exam anyway. I was an asset, except for my attendance. That year I also discovered a new passion--theatre. What better way to encompass my knack for writing, comprehension, memorization, manipulation, etc. than by acting? It was perfect. Even after graduation I got involved in a local little theatre and my life revolved around acting and ballroom dance for a while. I was enrolled in University for one semester, having received a full scholarship due to my test scores and consequently flunking out round 1 for pulling the same crap I did in high school, only professors turned out to be much less likely to let me slide on homework and attendance, obviously. I felt like the biggest loser ever. I was working part-time at the public library for barely minimum wage, and even that I quit at my 1 year anniversary because they notified us that we wouldn't get raises anymore.

About this time, my parents were starting to visibly struggle in their marriage for the first time. I would later come to find out a LOT more problems that they had successfully hidden throughout my childhood, but this was the first I got wind of it. My father made the choice to move the entire family back to Arkansas where we were originally from. My mother and sister didn't want to leave, but it was their only chance to save the marriage because dad was going either way. I put my foot down and at 18, chose to instead move in as a live-in nanny for some adult friends of mine from the theatre instead of moving. That worked for a good 6 months, but ultimately it was too much of a struggle to not have reliable money and I got a full time job in a day care. It was Hell from the start and I fell back into my pattern from the school days of calling out whenever I could, lying about reasons, hiding from my roommates. I grew desperate, but so, too, did my mom and sister, as they were miserable in Arkansas. The day they came back into town with all of their clothes in the car, I quit my job and checked into an extended stay hotel with them. My dad followed soon after. It's probably worth noting that (I later found out) in order to escape some of their marital struggles, my dad had been driving a big truck since I was 12, and would be gone most of the time, coming back every other weekend or so to rest for a couple of days.

This time was going to be different, we decided. We got a pretty house together in town. We lived there for approximately 1 year, during which time I worked at TGI Friday's as a hostess and then quit to work in a pottery studio. That was by far my favorite job I ever had, so much so that in the year I worked there, I only called out maybe 2 times. If you've been following along, you'll understand how big a deal that is. The only problem was that it was part time work. Around this time, I expressed my loneliness to one of my girlfriends at the theatre. I was going on 19 and had never had a serious boyfriend. My last boyfriend turned out to be gay and has been one of my best friends since, though I will never let him forget that he took my first kiss knowing nothing would ever come of it, the bastard. For her "birthday wish" she exchanged my number with an old friend of hers via text and requested that we talk to eachother, for kicks. She'd only vaguely mentioned him before and I knew that they had some sort of romantic past, but she was happily with another guy for a good 2-3 years so it seemed harmless.

Thus began probably the most destructive point in my life. His name is Jon and he was 23 at the time, five years my senior. He had dropped out of highschool and gotten his GED. He worked part time as a pizza cook. He was the thinnest person I've ever met and I remember the first time I saw him naked, how I could count every bone in his body. It wasn't by choice, he'd say. His mom had just done too much crack while she was pregnant with him. I wish I could say that was the darkest part of his story, but it wasn't. I heard endless tales of him looking after his strung-out mother, witnessing her coked out binges and prostitution, taking him to strip clubs as a small child where he'd sit for hours while she worked. He was tossed from family member to family member after a while, started smoking cigarettes and pot at a young age, didn't like drinking--because he'd been in too many black out fights while drunk. He was divorced and avoiding child support payments for a kid he refused was his, but never had a paternity test done because it was too expensive and he didn't have a lawyer. Sounds like a real winner right? Well to empty, lonely, virginal me, he was broken and I was going to fix him, damnit. We moved in together after dating for about 6 months, getting an apartment with my best friend. Prior to the Jon years and despite my depressive tendancies, my anxiety was relatively low and I was generally a social butterfly and life of the party. Through the two years I lived with him, all of that changed. It began with his general distrust and frustration with our roommates, ultimately pushing them away from both of us. I lost my best friend as well as a roomie, my first friend from my first public school all the way back in 3rd grade. Jon always had a reason to not want to be around my family and friends, and that put me in the position of "Do I hang out with friends or spend time with my boyfriend?". When he became my fiance, the choice became clearer and together we slowly shut out every person in my life other than him and his grandmother. A pretty amazing feat considering we lived in the same apartment complex as my mother. During our stint together I quit my job at the pottery studio because it wasn't enough to live off of and began working full time third shift at WalMart, which Jon also did. Soon, I was with him 24 hours a day and it began to wear on us. He was always a terribly dark, bitter person, but it got to the point where I could count on him to be either blind with rage or so depressed he was threatening suicide. My life became a constant toil of "What's Jon thinking? What can I do to fix it? How do I save him?". I spent hours, daily, crying and begging him to stop talking about killing himself. A pattern erupted. We would spend most of our days on our side-by-side computers, gaming. He became annoyed by me almost constantly, and told me so when I dared open my mouth to ask a question or suggest we do something together. When he began to yell and my fear and self-loathing was too obvious to deny, he would crumble and wail about how he didn't deserve me and how much better off I'd be if he killed himself, thus deflecting any anger I had at him for verbally abusing me only moments before and sending me into a panic attack to convince him otherwise. Despite how ****** all of this was, I loved him. He was the first man I'd ever slept with, lived with. We were engaged for Christ's sake. Ultimately he quit his job at WalMart, and then 5-6 successive jobs after that. For a solid 9 month stretch, I was the sole breadwinner, our roommates and even those that replaced them having long since been scared away by the stalking lion that was Jon. I left WalMart for a better paying job in a call center for a cell phone provider. Things were okay for a while, but at the tail end of our second year together I hit my breaking point. I was working my *** off, had gotten an early promotion to tech support, and had actually made meaningful friendships with some of my coworkers, something I'd seriously missed. They had already begun painting a picture for me, showing me just how wrong it was that he treated me the way I did. I still didn't want to give up on him, thought that the engagement meant something and that despite all his faults he loved me desperately as I loved him and we would get through it. One morning I woke to get ready for work and scrambled to turn our phone alarms off as he'd usually yell at me if I woke him, even to say goodbye. As I held his phone in my hand, I felt the urge to check it--something I had never done in the entire 2 years we'd been together, so trusting was I. I found texts, naked pictures from an ex girlfriend who was also engaged, plans to meet up and have sex while I was at work. When I threw the phone at him and told him to get up and explain himself, he immediately started packing a bag. Didn't try to defend himself, didn't beg me to forgive him. He just accepted that his joy ride was over and started packing.

He was out within a week. I carried on through the 2 months remaining on our lease and then moved in with another old friend I'd lost contact with (by no fault of her own, I'm sure you can imagine.) It was really hard. I felt like I had lost something so important, and been wasting my life at the same time. I went to work and came home to my cats and my computer. I'd get high and play games for hours, taking comfort in my online friends. One in particular was a constant source of comfort for me, and as a few months went by it became apparent he'd had his eye on me for a while and wanted more. Long distance relationships were something I'd pondered growing up, having been addicted to my computer from a young age and forming many connections with similar kids all over the country. I accepted it. It was nice to have all the support of a lover with none of the physical expectations or pressures yet. We got to know eachother and only a couple of months after I'd moved, he told me wanted to buy a ticket and come meet me. I was astounded. Not only did he like me even -after- seeing my picture, but he thought I was worth dropping a few hundred dollars to come meet?

I won't go as much into detail on that journey, but I'm still with him. His name is Bill and he lives a good 750 miles away. We've flown back and forth 3 times, the 4th being just next month. I bring him into it because he's really important to who I am now and what I'm struggling with.

I've got my friends back. I'm at this point back in a house with my parents and sister to help everybody financially. It's a rocky time for the family because dad actually ended up leaving them for almost 2 years, during which time he was in an accident and broke his back and arm. During the recovery process he realized how much he missed us and came back as soon as he was released from physical therapy and finished his disability settlement.

Bill is wonderful. He's not perfect, but he's so much more of a man than Jon was. He works hard, he builds me up, but he doesn't let me get away with being lazy. He struggles with very deep-running depression as well and he has had a couple of suicidal episodes that I've talked through with him. But it's such a different kind of brokenness. We aren't out to fix eachother, we are just broken together and taking turns being the support to get the other one through whatever may be happening.

That being said, I've been in the worst depressive episode of my life since about May of this year, after he left from his second visit down. Long distance relationships are hard for normal, healthy people. For me, they're devestating. We talk every day on the phone/voice comms(gaming)/ texting. Yet most nights I cry myself to sleep in his tshirt, wishing he was here. That issue, combined with the gravity of what I went through with Jon and my overall disgust with how I've gotten to where I am, how I look, how I wasted my chance at college education... I've become a monster and slave to my depression.

My call center job ended in August, miraculously by my own choice. I say that because in May when I hit FMLA eligibility status I visited a therapist who diagnosed me with acute anxiety, bringing to light many things I didn't even realize I was experiencing. Panic attacks, shaking, IBS symptoms (anxiety-related, who knew??), not sleeping/excessive sleeping, mood swings, emotional eating... The list goes on. On top of that, I'm not-so-slowly creeping towards a diabetes diagnosis from years of mistreatment. As all this settled on me and I began gulping futily for air, my therapist cleared me for FMLA hours. If you're not familiar, basically it's unpaid time off I could take whenever my symptoms prevented me from doing my job and the employer couldn't discipline me because of those hours, as it was a doctor-approved medical reason. By the time I left the job, I had gone over a month without working a full day. I'm a solid $1500 in debt due to various loans I took out to get me through that. I thought everything would be different with my new job, as it's work from home for a major technology provider, but it's still effectively the same work, troubleshooting cell phones with busy assholes who don't understand why the battery isn't lasting all day when they're only running 57,000 programs at a time on it. I did well during training, acing tests and participation just like the good old days in school, but now that it's just on the phones for the full shift, I've found myself calling out more and more. You'd think being this aware of my problems would make it easy to stop, but it's not. It just isn't. As I'm typing this, I've told my manager I won't be in 'til after lunch, but it's a safe bet I'll call the rest of the day in, too. And counting my weekend, this is the 6th day in a row I haven't worked. Some of it was justified, as my anxiety has mounted to the point where I'm waking up multiple times a night with stomach cramps, throwing up, etc. I cry before I even get out of bed most days. My dad doesn't truly understand, but he keeps offering his words of wisdom and reminding me that I have to work to survive, but who says I want to survive!? I don't mean that, I really don't. I've contemplated suicide, but I could never do something so selfish, and frankly I would never leave Bill. I know exactly what that would do to him and I have never loved someone so fiercely. I refuse to hurt him if there's any way I can stop it.

Because of that though, I end up lying. I lie to Bill and my family about going to work. It's even easier now that I work from my room, where my personal computer also sits. And it makes me feel repulsive. I feel like I'm dying, my brain is so unhealthy, but my body, too. How many 23 year olds do you know over 300lbs? Probably not a lot, and I doubt that they're healthy unless they're, like, pro linebackers. I feel my heart race and my knees click just going up and down the stairs. But no matter what my intentions are and what promises I make to myself while I'm lying awake at night, when morning comes and my eyes open, I feel all the brokenness burying me anew and I can't breathe. I don't want to get out from under the covers. I want to smoke pot and pace at my computer until Bill wakes up, even if I can't talk to him beyond texting until my work shift would normally be over, so he and everyone else thinks I'm there. I'm spiraling out of control and I don't know who to talk to about it. My dad just tells me to stop listening to myself, to stop letting myself make excuses, to just buckle down and get my work done, true as ever to our Southern stoicism. My mom is drowning in her own depression and anxiety, weaving through spells where she's totally okay to times when she's so zomb'd out on Xanax she thinks I'm her sister who died going on 10 years ago. When she is in her right mind, she tells me she understands because she has it too and so does my sister and grandmother, but they're all doing their jobs and mine's infinitely easier than theirs so I just need to suck it up and do it. And, dear, sweet Bill just tells me he loves me and that he knows I'm stronger than this. That's the worst. Because not only do I disagree, I feel like I'm letting him down over and over again and he deserves so much better.

"Thank you for reading this rant" doesn't even begin to cover it if you made it this far, but I had to get all my thoughts out in one place. I'm tired of spending 8 hours in my bedroom binge-watching Friends on Netflix because it makes me feel good and snuggling with my cat, who's the only person I know isn't disappointed with me when I call out. Saying I'm not in a good place is a comic understatement and I could really use some words from people who have been here.

Thanks for your time.

Kayla.

[nowhere46]

It sounds like you've had to deal with and could maybe use some support outside of family and friends. Have you ever considered talking to a counselor? Therapy might be a great place to get all of the past and present frustrations out in the open and get some breathing room where you can work on feeling better about yourself. Just an idea.

[striking]

You sound like the me of once upon a time. I hid behind a host of unhealthy activities while ignoring my own needs.

You're young, intelligent and realize that life is not working for you. That is a great start. But what are you going to do about it?

[caroleann2]

Kayla, thanks for sharing your story. You're an excellent writer! I am a lot older than you (54) so I am reading your life story from different perspective. Trust me, it gets better. Here are my observations:

1.) Clearly, you need to go flush your pot down the toilet immediately. It is not working for you. It's a depressant, first of all. It's no wonder you don't want to get up and do your work. You're zoned out, depressed and hung over. If you want to do one positive thing for yourself today, go flush it! Go now!!

2.) Cancel any gaming memberships you have and delete any/all games off your hard drive completely. If you have physical gaming DVDs (or whatever they are called), drop them off at a Goodwill store. This gaming crap is stealing your time and your mindshare away from productive activity. It gives you a false sense of accomplishment (reached a new level, beat my time, won the game) but in the 3D world, every hour you spend gaming is an hour that you will beat yourself up for not working, not going for a walk, not reading a book, etc. You have to know it's totally self destructive, just like the pot. If you can't do what I am suggesting, that should tell you right there than you are addicted and you need to pull the bandaid off and go cold turkey!

I bet if you did the 2 things above, you'd have more energy, fewer depressive episodes, fewer days where you were unproductive at work and you'd have more self-esteem for it. I hope my "tough love" helps you.

Hi Kayla,

I am as unwise as a donkey on the field trying to get past an electric fence, so I don't have any words of wisdom for you.

But...

Originally Posted by Shakespearmint

... When I threw the phone at him and told him to get up and explain himself, he immediately started packing a bag. Didn't try to defend himself, didn't beg me to forgive him. He just accepted that his joy ride was over and started packing.

He was out within a week ...

... after reading the above quote, I gotta say: lucky escape for you is what that was, very lucky escape indeed.

Other than that, I better say no more. I'm also stuck in a bad place myself, so it would be a case of the feeble trying to lead the infirm... or something like that.

and

[Shakespearmint]

Thanks for the replies everybody! As far as therapy, I have only seen the one doctor who set me up on FMLA back in May. He was a much older gentleman who I couldn't really connect with and I always got the feeling that he was counting down the minutes til I left. I did tell my parents yesterday that I'd really like to seek out therapy again. My dad's answer was to promise to YouTube some Anthony Robins speeches on depression. I'm not giving up, just have to weigh the options I have available.

As far as the pot, I don't see myself giving it up because unfortunately, it's the only time I feel good at all. I get what you're saying about the hangover feeling and that's true, but when I am nearly hyperventilating from an anxiety attack, it calms me down and really allows me to get inside my own head and thing about things in depth. I appreciate your words, I truly do, but this may be a divide our generations never see eye to eye on. It helps much more than it hurts, but many, especially the older generation, have been exposed to so much propaganda painting it as evil and a gateway to harder drugs that the good is often missed by even those it could genuinely help. I say all this because I want anyone who replies to understand where I sit on the issue, but I don't want this to turn into a pro/anti marijuana debate, please.

And the gaming. I think that's another one that is perceived differently depending on age. To be honest, Carole Ann, the depression has given me little to no appetite for gaming. I used to be able to stay up all night with a controller in my hand, moderate gaming communities, help younger kids get the hang of it, chat with folks all the time. Since falling so far, I feel the same disgust and exhaustion staring at my Steam library as I do looking over my work equipment. The only exception is The Sims, which I highly recommend for anybody with an anxiety disorder. It sounds silly, but being 100% in control of that tiny family is downright cathartic. I don't think that I have a gaming addiction now, though I certainly have in the past and know quite a few people with that struggle. It's not an easy burden. Especially when you're looking at throwing away easily thousands of dollars worth or equipment and games. But my other reason for hanging onto it is Bill. It's how we met, trolling The harsh Russian landscape of DayZ, fighting for survival. And lately though we both struggle with severe depression, the happy points of our day are the evenings when we pop on our headsets and spent a few hours laughing and goofing off and completely destroying each other in League of Legends 1v1s. I don't think you're wrong by any means. I know it's a drain on my time and contribution to the "real world." But the Internet has been my real world since I was 11 and discovered role play forums. (That's not dirty like it sounds, I assure you. It's basically exactly like this website, only when people post they're writing a 2-3 paragraph story about their character and what he or she is doing. Then someone else replies with how their character reacts, and together everyone tells a story. I completely contribute my writing skill to it.) At the end of the day, gaming is important to my relationship and for now, I need it to keep me sane.

I definitely think I was lucky to get out of the relationship with Jon before he turned physically violent towards me (he often would hit/slap himself or bang his head against something when we fought. It was terrifying and awful to watch). It was just humiliating and exhausting to see someone I'd been fighting for tooth and nail for years just give up without explaining himself.

Hi Kayla..
Are you on any medication? I don't think I read that you are.

I can only randomly comment on what you wrote...and sometimes I wonder if the people here really want that of if they're just venting.

Leaving that loser was the best thing you could have done. Really. Kudos.
Your family is NO support for you (I don't mean that in a mean way). I would hesitate to tell them anything because they are NOT in a position to help you in any way. As you are aware every time you talk to them, they have their own shyte to deal with so they have nothing to give you.

As for the other stuff...you're sabotaging yourself and that's stuff for a therapist to help you with. You probably can figure out the "why's" as you are intelligent, but knowing "why" isn't the same as being able to effectively deal it.

So I guess my only comment is to see a doctor and get a referral to a therapist. You will need to research resources in your state. Perhaps taking that as a first step will help you gain a sense of accomplishment.

Sorry I can't help more...

[Shakespearmint]

Just wanted to give an update.

I had a large victory yesterday. I worked the full day. Didn't call out, even worked over a bit. Really amazing for me. I'm day 3 back on my meds and I felt like I could really kick this thing.

But last night my mom said she had to talk to me and pulled me aside. My grandpa's just been diagnosed with leukemia, and they're wanting him to start chemo immediately but he doesn't want to. I'm devastated. I really don't know what to do or think or feel. All I know is I've been lying in bed for hours and everything hurts.