full image - Repost: I've resigned myself to the fact that things more than likely won't get better. (from Reddit.com, I've resigned myself to the fact that things more than likely won't get better.)
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Throwaway. I'll try to do this in such a way that doesn't give me away to those that I know, but that may be an exercise in futility. At this point, I don't think I care anymore.I'm in my late 20s and currently more fortunate than I've ever been I'd say. I have a spouse, a home, several friends, a few pets. I don't take them for granted and care for them very very much. The problem lies with me. I think I've finally given up.I had what some would describe as a traumatic upbringing. My parents separated when I was around five and moved far enough away from each other that I would only see my father once a year, maybe twice if I were lucky. I suffered severely from fear of abandonment issues so much so that my mother would often have to leave work to come take me home as I was so inconsolable at school that it was a disruption to the other students. Academically I did well to the point where my first grade teacher wanted to skip me ahead to the second or third grade. Emotionally, however, I was a wreck, and my mother made the (probably correct) decision to keep me where I was.I think I was somewhere in the 7-9 age range when I started to pick up on my mother's alcoholism. She would come home from work and immediately start drinking until she passed out on the couch. I'm not bashing my mother; I think all things considered she raised me to the absolute best of her ability. She fed me and kept a roof over my head. I had all the video games and consoles I wanted. I was just... alone. Almost always. I guess when you're a child it's nice to be left to your own devices, but I'd wager it's not healthy for development. Things started to get worse when she started dating him.From the start, I don't think I liked my mother's boyfriend. He had an outward, jovial personality toward me that didn't do much to mask the air of malice about him. I made her aware that I didn't like him, but she was tired and lonely. I think he viewed me as competition for her already limited attention. While I can only think of a couple of occasions where he was physical with me, it was mostly just a staggering amount of emotional abuse and neglect. There were a lot of emotional tear downs. I was constantly told that I spoke poorly and that I wasn't as smart as I thought I was. I can think of several times where I was locked out of my own home for hours at a time and not allowed back in for any reason, even to use the bathroom. For the sake of brevity, I'll leave it at that. After a couple of years of his abuse toward both my mother and I, she finally left him. Things didn't get better.When I was in middle school, I started to skip class regularly. Not out of a hatred for school or my mother, but just because I lost the ability to function. I regressed. I would wait for my mom to leave for work in the mornings, and then I would just lay on the couch and stare at the wall until she came back. There was even a time that she drove me to school and dropped me off, and after I was sure she had left, I started walking and wandered the town for hours. I started to lose time and forget what had happened. My brain just shut down. One day, she finally caught me. But by that point, I had already missed 100+ days of school. What followed was a blur. A lot of doctor's visits and psych appointments. This was all capped off with me being involuntarily held in a psych ward for several days. Twice. And all before the age of 13.I was moved to a new k-12 private school that was much smaller than public school. Things improved a little. I was still struggling with depression but built a support network in the faculty, new friends I was making, and meeting the person who would later become my spouse. I discovered a talent for theater and music and found a much needed reprieve from what I had lived through so far.I suppose I've said all this to demonstrate that I've been dealing with things like this for as long as I can remember. The only problem now is that I'm an adult. Fixing the problems that I have is now my responsibility, and the problems just won't stop. Anxiety, depression, my past, alcohol abuse, a bipolar II diagnosis in my early 20s -- it just won't go away. I'm so tired. I've fought so hard to fix them, or at the very least manage them. Several medications, a psychiatrist, a few therapists, meditation, long walks, deep breathing, good sleep, clean eating: it all seems futile.I've been so fortunate to have a significant other who supports me. That's a luxury that few people have. And while I don't like to say this, were it not for them, I would've committed suicide years ago. I don't know why they're still with me. I live in their house, they provide for me financially. I've been through several jobs and long periods of unemployment. I've tried to go back to school twice; I'm just barely squeaking by this semester. I'm no longer passionate about anything. I feel so much hurt and guilt for being a drain on my spouse and others. They tell me it's ok and that they love and support me, but my brain won't let me believe them. Every new attempt I make at fitting in or functioning in society as a normal human being is like sprinting full speed into a brick wall. It's getting harder and harder to get back up and keep pushing forward. I do so for them, but I feel as though it's only a matter of time before the scales tip and the pain of living finally outweighs my feelings for the people I love.
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