@Tink1113 You and me both. This past week has been pretty bad for me. Not my worst, but bad enough. I entertained those kinds of thoughts far more than I liked. Last time—my first depressed episode, it was a lot worse. I was thinking about how. This time, I was just wishing. Every time I felt bad, I thought, “I wish I could die,” or something like that.
But my next thought was “you don’t really want to die. This thought just means you are in such pain, you can’t stand it. You know you really want to live. You want to see what happens next.” That’s my self-suicide message now. The other part of it is that I want to be deeply connected to someone I love, and that I want to be loved. Oh God, do I want to be loved.
I think it’s impossible for anyone who hasn’t been there to understand how much I need to be connected. I think that makes me attracted to others like me, because they do understand. But I digress.
I think you are doing the right thing in reaching out. But if you’re like me, you need real human touch. Virtual love is nice, but it really doesn’t do the trick. You’re in trouble there. You are surrounded by people who you believe don’t care about you. But, your parents are probably really scared for you and don’t know what to do. That’s why they sent you to the shrink. Maybe they don’t know how to express their love for you, which means family therapy is crucial.
The other thing is to hold out until therapy and meds work, and then hold out until you find someone who really loves you. There will be a person, but I don’t know when.
Anyway, you probably are like me, too, in that you way underestimate your value to others. It’s weird knowing that you do nothing for others when they tell you that you mean something to them. For me the problem is that they never say what the something is. They can’t point to anything specific I did or said that was meaningful to them, so I don’t believe them. That’s just me. I’m a scientist. I don’t believe anything without evidence, and statements do not count as evidence.
So my stomach howls with anxiety most of the time. My thoughts go obsessively around whatever it is that bothers me or that I think about. Usually about how I am not loved. At least, not by the people I want to love me.
I know I can survive this. I have in the past. It will hurt for I don’t know how long. Eventually I will get past it. It would be better to be loved, but life is like that for some of us. We have to wait a long time before we finally meet that person who wants us the way we want them. There will be mistakes. But some time.
It’s just your pain talking. It’s just a way of saying “I hurt.” “I hurt like you can not believe.” “I need help.”
Of course letting yourself be helped is difficult. We don’t believe we are worth help. We don’t believe anyone really cares just because they say it. They have to prove it, and prove it in the face of the obstacles we put in their way. We make it so hard for people to love us, even though that’s what we want the most.We’re impossible.
Except we are possible. And sometimes—most of the time—we can hold on until it’s not so bad. Hold on, kid. I’m gonna hold on, too. Not because of all the people depending on me (although that is part of it), but for myself. I just want to know what will happen next. Can’t do that if I’m dead.