An Ending and a Beginning

A lot has happened since I last posted here, I think I want to start using this space as a kind of online journal to see if anyone can relate to it. It would be nice to connect to people. I don’t know if this is a good idea or not. But I guess we will see.

I see that in my last post I was about to start ERP. Well, now I’m about to finish it. Tremendous progress was made on the OCD front, although it was quite a struggle, the whole way through. But now the real work begins.

Today, on my therapist’s recommendation, I contacted another therapist who specializes in trauma and DBT. That is pertinent, as I sit here and reflect on my loneliness, swiping on a dating app and finding no connections, and thinking about a whirlwind friendship that ended several months ago.

I met my friend on a Discord server hosted by a podcast host we both liked listening to. The Discord was a kind of little community and we formed a book club, reading Ulysses together over Zoom. There was an awkward moment during one of the discussions, and we both reached out to apologize to each other, and we just really hit it off. We bonded over mental illness, we talked every day about all kinds of things, it felt like I had a true friend. It felt very intimate in a way that is kind of hard to describe, and I eventually developed feelings for her and a weird kind of tension formed that I was never really able to sort out. It just felt so good to feel close to someone, even a friend on the internet, as I have had very little intimacy of any kind in my life.

We relied on each other a lot for support. I guess it was kind of codependent. And ultimately I became too much, relied on her too heavily for support, as the past year was tough, and everything just fell apart.

And I’ve been thinking about it for the past few months, alternatively being upset with her, trying to frame it as her fault and then realizing that I have no one to blame but myself and feeling deeply ashamed of my own behavior.

It was a really important friendship while it lasted, and now it’s over, and I just feel like I’ll never make another friend again.

And so I am hopefully about to start therapy for C-PTSD, which seems to be a diagnosis that fits me at this point, with my very weak sense of self, and tendency to cling to others or push them away while seeking as much space as possible, sometimes swinging between those two extremes. And my fear of rejection, deep sense of shame, and just never-ending emotional turmoil. These things begin in childhood, and maybe I will write about that in the future, but that feels a little too raw at the moment.

I know that I have so much more work to do, but it just feels like it never ends. And it is very hard to divorce a sense of being worthy of love from having to do this constant work to get people to love me. It feels like I’m not really worthy of love if I have to constantly fix myself, forever, for anyone at all to finally accept me. I don’t know how to reconcile any of this.

I fear that DBT will mostly consist of learning to stuff down my desires, needs, and fears, so that I don’t overburden other people. I just want to take up a little space, and to ask for someone to witness me.

I’ve been in the mental health care system since age 13, and I’m so tired of it. I feel like I have to fix all of these things before my life can finally begin, and I’ve been waiting a long time. I will be 40 in two years. This must be therapist 11 or 12 at this point. It’s hard to keep having hope. Why will it be different this time?

I’ve been diagnosed with ADHD, autism, bipolar disorder, and OCD. I’ve been on anti-depressants, anti-convulsants, anti-psychotics, stimulants, benzos, beta blockers, TCAs, ketamine, and a handful of other stuff. I am exhausted with trying to fix myself.

And yet here I sit, alone, friendless, alienated, and just so sad, with another important relationship destroyed in my wake. What else am I supposed to do, besides stay in the system, keep working and striving, until I am finally good enough?

E.R.P.

I have been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and I am attempting to get help for it, again. My therapist believes that I am also autistic, and that I probably have bipolar disorder as well. And maybe even a little ADHD. All the things that I have been diagnosed with in the past, I probably actually have them, according to him. I have been operating under the assumption that those were all mis-diagnoses. I don’t understand how it’s possible to have that much wrong with you.

I can’t take amphetamines for ADHD, because I love speed too much, and I won’t take anything else. No anti-psychotics or anti-depressants. I have been on it all, and I won’t take any of that ever again. We are trying a course of Exposure with Response Prevention. It is the gold standard therapy for OCD. I do not have any faith that it will work, but I keep going to my appointments on Friday (virtually), I suppose out of desperation. Right now, we are only practicing response prevention, which for me involves drastically reducing the amount of time I spend researching my fears on the internet.

I am coming down from a 36 hour bender where I’ve been obsessively researching sexual consent. One of my primary obsessions is an intense fear of inflicting sexual harm, and of being the type of person who would do that. I haven’t had any need to sleep and very little need to eat. I have had to work during this stretch. I suppose this is the intersection of bipolar disorder and OCD. An unlimited amount of energy to pursue compulsions.

Like many people, I have been isolated since March. My small apartment feels like a prison cell. Even after a lifetime of loneliness I have never felt so alienated as I do now. Someone knocked on my door a little while ago and I hid in my bedroom until they went away. I hate being like this. I feel so disconnected from other people. I wonder what they wanted. I am cowardly, weak, empty-hearted, shallow, and irredeemably narcissistic. I sometimes wonder if I am even human. I have no one to blame but myself. My life didn’t have to turn out like this. I chose this path, for reasons I’ll never understand.

I’ve been thinking of buying a gun lately, to finish things. I hate guns, and I hate violence, and I don’t want to go that way, but I have been thinking about it more and more each day. When used correctly, they typically do the job. I would probably fuck it up, would be my guess. I guess I only write here when I want to die. Maybe it will pass, maybe it won’t, I don’t know anymore. But it’s scary feeling, and it’s comforting also, like making peace with things and looking forward to freedom from all of this.

I am a joke

A lot has happened since I last wrote here. I had a final, disastrous, heartbreaking meeting with Jillian in March. She elected to go back to her shitty, abusive husband and erase me from her life forever. I hope that she finally leaves him one day, and finds somebody so much better than either her husband or me, but I don’t think she ever will.

I got a shitty part time job in a mail room. It brought stability to my life but I couldn’t get past how embarrassed I was to be doing that for a living at my age. I bought a car with some money that I got after my grandfather died, since I crashed my old one into a tree. I wonder what he would think of me now. I fell in love with Sara, my student therapist, because of course I did, and then her rotation ended. I began working with Nate, who is a really great guy, but it isn’t the same.

A better job fell out of the sky and into my lap. I don’t know how to do my job and I don’t deserve to have it. I don’t make very much money and I probably never will. But I make enough to be financially independent, for the first time ever.

I have started training for a half marathon with a running club. The people there are very friendly, but I am the slowest, least experienced of the group, and I feel very out of place there. I feel like that no matter where I go or what I do or who I’m with. Just different in some fundamental way, completely unable to connect to anyone else. It’s an incredibly isolating experience. It feels like everyone else knows where they belong and who they belong with, and I am all alone.

I have begun using dating apps. It is as depressing as everyone says. I sometimes go weeks without getting any matches, and when I go on dates I can’t connect with anyone. I am just like this weird robot person pretending to be human and trying to figure out what it feels like for everyone else. I am learning how to date in my mid-30s. I should have been doing this as a teenager.

I am moving into an apartment finally. I love my apartment. But it’s old and rough around the edges and shows the world how poor I am. Most of the people I am meeting my age, whether they are involved in the activities I am trying to pursue, like running, or they are women I am dating, are professional, educated, making good money, own their own homes, have started families, are investing in retirement, etc. That’s not me. That may never be me, given how badly I have screwed up my financial/work situation. I won’t be able to afford to leave my current job for years, if ever, due to my terrible work history. And if I get fired or laid off, I will be totally screwed. I will likely have to get a minimum wage part-time job, and I won’t be able to afford my apartment any more.

Every step I take forward reminds me of how far behind I am and how out of sync I am with everyone else. I have 35 but I’m living like I’m 22. I have wasted too much time and missed out on too many opportunities. It didn’t have to be this way. I have no one to blame but myself for my own cowardly choices. I will never understand why I have lived my life the way that I have.

Therapy is ending soon. I have one more session. It didn’t really work. Every day I am tortured by that demon that just seems to live in my head. I have been seriously thinking about suicide again for the past two weeks. Every day that itch grows stronger and I want to scratch it. No one knows. I know no one reads this so no one will ever know.

I fantasize about buying a gun and doing it like a man. I wonder what my brains would look like splattered on my gray apartment walls. But the bullet would likely kill one of my neighbors. I am an utterly worthless piece of shit, but I am not going to take someone with me. I’ve considered sealing my windows and doors and cranking up the gas, but there is too great a risk of fire or explosion. The ceiling fan in my room likely won’t hold my weight, even though I’ve lost almost 50 pounds now.

Pills rarely work. Cutting is much easier said than done. And of course I don’t want my family to find my body. I still think the solution is to go back to nature. Jumping into the Grand Canyon. Freezing to death or jumping into a crevasse on Mt. Hood. Drowning off of the Carolina Coast, a place very close to my heart. If nobody knows that I went to these places, they will never find me. No search parties will have to risk their lives. My loved ones won’t have to see my dead body. If I do it right, they can even pretend that I am still out there somewhere, although I don’t know if that is better or worse.

I’ve started writing my note. I’m just using this to flesh out some ideas. Maybe someone will read this and comment. Perhaps offer a suggestion. I’m curious.

Jillian

Tonight I went to an event and I saw Jillian. She completely ignored me, as though I never existed and we never had anything. I should be so happy to have her out of my life, but I’m not. I miss her so much. And it was just a reminder that I will never, ever find anyone. The best case scenario for my recovery is that I will take the better part of the year to get through ERP, and then I will be starting at a place I should have been when I was 18 years old. But I will 35, on my way to 36. I will be near 40 by the time I am in a position to enter into a stable relationship, and I will be living in a studio apartment stocking shelves at Costco or something like that. I will still have tens of thousands of dollars of debt attached to my name. What’s the point? Who will want to be with me? I’m ready to be done with this.

My sister will return from her trip on Monday and I will give her her gift, and then my suicide window will open. I have set the deadline at my birthday in May, but I am willing to be a bit flexible. I am thinking that I want to jump into the Grand Canyon, I’ve been reading a little bit about it lately. I know that I definitely don’t want to kill myself in my parents’ house where they will find my body. If I disappear for awhile before my body is found (at the bottom of the canyon), it will put them through a great deal of stress, which is not ideal, I just don’t want them to find me. But if I jump several thousand feet to my death, my body will be destroyed and they won’t have to see it at my funeral. I have been to the Grand Canyon several times, and jumping in was all I could think about.

This will take a great deal of preparation. I am going to begin writing my note tonight. I wish I had some fiends. I wish I had someone to talk to. I wish I had some hope. The only thing to look forward to is this.

My Sister’s Birthday

My sister’s birthday is Wednesday. I am going to buy her a couple of board games and a nice card. She loves board games. Her birthday is the last event I plan on celebrating in my life. After it passes, my suicide window will open up. I plan on killing myself between then and May 6, which is my birthday.

I have been awake all night, looking at Facebook. I am the least successful member of my high school class, by far. To reiterate, I am 34, living with my parents, I have not been gainfully employed since 2012, I am mentally ill, I am a former drug addict, and I have just spent the past year engaged in an affair with a married woman. My life is worthless, and my would-be future is bleak, to put it mildly.

At this point, I am going to begin writing my suicide note, and then it is time to start researching methods. Apparently some people view this blog, I don’t know who or why. Maybe one of you could give me a suggestion on a method.

Job Interview

Today I had a job interview, and it went less terribly than I thought it would. It is for a job in the construction industry that pays 16 dollars an hour. It would be a wonderful opportunity for me. A full time job with benefits and profit sharing, a full year mentorship to learn the trade from the ground up, and ability to work independently after I am properly trained. In the city where I live, the cost of living is low and 32,000 dollars per year with benefits is enough to live independently.

And yet, after the initial rush of enthusiasm that the interview seemed to go well and that the job sounded like a great fit, I began to become depressed, because I am what I unfortunately am. It’s the same old stuff. The friends I grew up with make close to six figures or more. Some of my cousins are millionaires, and they are not yet 40. And then there’s me. I like to read articles online about millennials who are struggling, but I don’t see them anywhere. I think that’s a myth. I know not a single person who is like me, who is my age. I can’t even find stories of people like me on the internet. And I have looked everywhere. I feel completely alone and absolutely isolated.

Why do I care so much about this? I hate caring about it. I wish I could let it all go. How freeing it would be to just not give a shit about where I am in life, to embrace a great opportunity (if I am given such an opportunity), and to finally move forward, building a truly authentic life for the first time ever. But it doesn’t work that way with me.

I was born into well-to-do middle class white people culture, and I was expected to succeed by birthright. I was told growing up that I was smart and talented, and that life would be pretty easy for me. No one ever suggested that I might struggle for any reason. I am also white and male. And heterosexual. Life should have gone pretty well for me. It did for everyone I associated with growing up.

I’ve been thinking a bit about privilege lately and how it plays into my situation. Privilege has both protected me from many of the harsh realities of the world and largely stunted my growth. Like many middle-class white people born in the 80s, I grew up sheltered and I learned to fear everything. My family is wealthy enough that I don’t have to work, at least not for the time being, and I can live in a nice house with my parents. If I weren’t so privileged, I might have been kicked out at 18, forced to work for a living, given no choice but to succeed in college (if I had an opportunity to go), and expected to live independently. I don’t know what this means or what it says about me, but I think about it a lot. All I know is that it makes me feel like an absolute, utter failure.

My friends were able to to take advantage of their privilege, and I was not, for some reason. I was given every chance to succeed, and I totally blew it somehow. I desperately want to blame it on my mental illness, but I can’t. Everyone in my OCD group has a job, lives independently, etc. Many of them are married, certainly all of them have had serious relationships in the past, if they are currently single. And then there’s me. I desperately want to blame all of this on my sleep disorder, but that’s even more ridiculous. Everyone is tired all of the time, and all of those tired people function just fine. And then there’s me.

Also, sleep disorders and mental illness are the exclusive domain of middle class white people, I’ve come to believe. If I were a person of color or working class, I would not even be given the chance to consider that I might be suffering from such impairments.

It’s a frightening thing to think about, but I think this is how white men become radicalized on the internet. I really, really hate myself for failing so miserably at life, when life should have been so easy for me. I blame myself entirely for my failings, and I feel completely alienated from the rest of the world. It would be nice if someone were to come along and convince me that none of this is my fault, that it’s someone else’s fault, that I’m a victim, and that there’s a whole group of struggling people out there just like me. I will never go down that dark path, but I’m starting to see how it begins.

At the end of the day, all my bullshit angst about getting a decent job that isn’t as good as my friends’ jobs is likely all for naught. When the company I interview for does a thorough background check on me, they will find the gaping holes in my work history that are not quite so painfully obvious on my carefully crafted resume. And they will move on. And who could blame them?

I will then need to revamp my job hunting strategy. I will need to make my resume a little more straightforward (there are no lies on my resume, it’s just tailored a bit to cover up those gaps), and I will have to somehow come straight out about my absence from the work force in interviews, if I’m able to get them. I will also need to abandon my search for decent paying full time work and start looking at low wage part time jobs, as those are likely the only jobs I will be able to get. I guess it’s nice I can live with my parents while I spend the next couple years trying to wedge my way into the full time work force.

But I don’t think I’ll do any of those things. At the end of the day, I don’t want to be 35 and flipping burgers, living with mom and dad, while everyone around me seems to be living the American dream. What’s the point? What kind of future is there after that?

My sister’s birthday is less than a month a way, and mine is in less than 5 months. I want to celebrate with her one last time, but don’t want anyone to celebrate with me, not like this.

I was supposed to be a winner, and I turned out to be a loser, and I can’t live with that. And I’m not going to.

A Very Long Goodbye

I’m not sure why I’m doing this.  I guess I have always had a weird desire to blog about my shitty, embarrassing life, and now seems as good a time as any to do it, as I am contemplating ending it soon.  I’m not sure if it’s narcissistic or natural to want to leave a record of your life,  but I think that is the basic purpose of this blog.  I think some small part of me is also trying to reach out to the world, to see if I am alone in my situation.  I am also using this as a way to organize my thoughts and to vent my feelings in times of distress.  I have used journaling in the past, but there is something intriguing about sharing all of this with the world, I guess.  When I write this down in my journal, I am only sharing it with myself.

I will use this first post as an introduction, as is customary.  I am in a state of distress and my thoughts are scattered.  I am also brand new to blogging.  If I continue to update this, hopefully my writing will improve and be a bit more coherent.

I am a 34 year old man (despite the title of this blog) who lives with his parents, is unemployed, and has been battling mental illness for more than two decades.  Obsessive compulsive disorder seems to be at the heart of my issues, but it has been suggested to me by more than one mental health professional that I may be on the autistic spectrum, and I feel there is some merit to that.  I feel that at this point in my life, I also have some personality disorder-type issues.  My issues began when I was around 13 years old, and I have since seen eight different therapists.  In addition to OCD and ASD, I have also been diagnosed, (or misdiagnosed, perhaps) with ADHD, Bipolar disorder, and of course depression and general anxiety.    I have been on multiple SSRIs, TCAs, benzos, stimulants, anti-psychotics, anti-convulsants, beta-blockers, and sleep aids.  None of them have worked.

When I was being treated for ADHD, I developed an addiction to amphetamines.  I used my medication (Vyvanse) as prescribed for over two years.  Then, during one particularly bad day at work, I took an extra one to help me get through the day.  It was all downhill after that.  I spent the next 15 months alternating between abusing my medication and trying to get off of it.  I finally stopped taking them for good in August of 2013.  After that I experimented with opioids for awhile and briefly abused Benadryl.  I am clean now.  I don’t even drink alcohol or consume caffeine anymore.   I am currently not taking any medications, either. 

I am exhausted all the time and there are many days when I can barely function at all.  There are no thyroid or metabolic issues, according to blood work.  I have recently been evaluated for sleep issues in a formal sleep study and I seem to show the symptoms of Upper Airway Resistance Syndrome.  But since it isn’t Obstructive Sleep Apnea, my insurance refuses to pay for it.  The sleep doctor gave me a script for Gabapentin to help me sleep, not knowing what else to do.  On nights when I do take it, I wake up feeling even more tired than when I don’t take it.  It is clearly not the answer.

I have been out of the workforce since 2012.  I am now trying to re-enter, but despite the booming economy, I am routinely rejected from even basic customer service and warehouse-type jobs.  I have no idea how to explain the gap on my resume, as it is essentially due to drug abuse and mental illness.  I have held a volunteer position since 2010, and have done good work for the organization, am well liked there, have supervisors willing to serve as references, etc.  But nobody gives a shit.  A volunteer job is not steady, gainful employment, and that is what matters.

Most embarrassingly, I did not become sexually active until earlier this year.  I managed to go 34 years without having sex, and then I met a woman my age at my volunteer job who, for whatever reason, found me attractive.  She was (is) married.  We started as friends, then got closer and closer, then slept together, regretted it, and then slept together many more times.  Then she got caught.  I now think she was using me as a weapon to punish her husband, who she once told me she hated, but now claims to “love very much.”  Today she told me she wants to cut me out of her life entirely so she can go back to her husband.  I thought we were in love, mostly because she told me she loved me and I told her the same.  I was wrong.  I think that is why I am writing this blog post right now.

I am at a bizarre, in-between state of mind.  I have not fully committed to suicide, but I have completely lost hope.  I am in a great deal of pain, but I’m not sure if I want to die.  My life has been painful and pointless.  I have tried very hard to improve my situation, but to no avail.  I have entirely missed out on the very best years of my life.  I am looking at a future of jumping from one minimum-wage part-time job to another.  I will likely never be financially stable enough to move out of my parent’s house.  I will probably live with them until they die, at which point I will inherit the house, sell it, and then live in a little apartment somewhere.  I will be in my 50s or 60s when this happens. (I want to point out that I am in no hurry for my parents to die.  I love them very much and I greatly appreciate all the support they have given me.  I will never be able to repay them.   I am just trying to paint a picture of my situation).

I will likely never have sex again.  I won’t die a virgin, but I will probably die never knowing what it’s like to experience romantic love.  Dating is obviously out of the question right now.  Being 34, living with your parents and being unemployed doesn’t look great on Tinder.  Being 35, living with your parents and making $8 an hour isn’t much better (my best case scenario for the future).  Being mentally ill also doesn’t help.  And it’s not like I’m brimming with sexual confidence, having done the deed maybe 20 or 30 times total at the age of 34.

The friends that I grew up with have normal lives.  My childhood best friend is a professional scientist.  He owns a home and is married, and his wife is pregnant with their first child.  Many of my other friends have similar lives.  And then there’s me.  I was supposed to turn out just like them.  I didn’t.  And to say that I am impossibly far behind is a little bit of an understatement.

I don’t yet know if I will kill myself or not.  But I think I am very close to deciding.  I want to spend one more nice Christmas with my family.  I will see my old friends, they will be home for the holidays to see their families.  I will have a chance to say goodbye to them.  And I want to celebrate my sister’s birthday one more time.  It is in early February and she is the person who I feel closest to in this world.

After that, I’m not sure that I want to keep on doing this.  I will turn 35 in early May.  I don’t think that I want to look back on my life on my birthday and see what I see now.  I certainly don’t want to look back from my 40th, 50th, or 90th birthday and see this.

I am well aware of the fact that committing suicide would be devastating to my family.  I think about that a lot.  I don’t want to do that to them.  But people who love their families kill themselves all the time.  It happens every day.  They don’t mean to hurt anyone but they run out of coping resources.  And that’s where I find myself right now.  I don’t think that I can weather one more bad situation.  I am at the end of my rope.

I don’t know if anyone will find this or if anyone will respond.  I hope so.  I would just like to hear from somebody at this point.  I feel so isolated, like I am an alien in this world.  Our society isn’t very nice to people who screw up or fall behind or fall through the cracks for whatever reason, and I almost feel like I am not allowed to be a part of the world around me.

That is all for now.  We’ll see if I keep updating this.  I think on very bad days it could be therapeutic.  If you leave a comment I will do my best to respond.  I am brand new to blogging, like I said.  I look forward to hearing from you and I hope you are having a better day than me.