ahs1079
HELP ME I AM IN HELL.
- Jul 2, 2020
- 16
My description of why I belong here in this group, as sent to group leader(s)....
Several reasons. I belong here for one. In this group where I can speak freely. I don't have to worry about judgment. I feel if someone really wants to go they will do what must be done to ensure success, therefore trying to stop anyone is fruitless. Might as well hear what we have to say prior to our self-deliverance. I would have loved to see my dad's thoughts typed on this site before he blew his head off with an assault rifle in the summer of 2016. Man, if only. The man didn't even have the decency to leave a fucking note. Nothing. Nada. Just BOOM. Done. Poof. Gone. Fuck him. I am very curious also about others' thoughts on this subject and maybe I can find a missing link or something that might make his death make more sense, even though I, myself have known for many, many years that I am meant to be a suicide. It's knowledge I cannot explain. It just is what it is. Ever since I was a child. I know I have to bring it to fruition in the right time. But things have to be perfect and in order for my success. I have done everything in my power to change my mindset, from meds (you name it) to therapy to hypnosis to EMDR to street drugs to ketamine infusion therapy to talking EXTREMELY openly to family and close friends and partners. Not once have I ever found relief from my depression. Ever. Except when I was high on meth. That's when I was the happiest I have ever felt in my life. But my family is VERY anti-drugs (street drugs) and I was raised in a military household, and blah blah. So I stopped using, even though I was happy. I went back to being sober, as I had been for 35 years prior to my first use. An ex gf hooked me on meth. I ended up kicking it after using off and on for a year and have been clean for almost two years now. I am at a crossroads. Since stopping meth, I have lost my ability to feel. I am completely anhedonic. I cannot feel genuine joy or pleasure. I am a shell of who I used to be. I have gained weight since getting sober, right now being the heaviest I've been in my adult life. I was a stick my whole life. Everyone always told me I was so beautiful. I look back at pictures and see a gorgeous woman full of love and light and hope. Not anymore. I have isolated myself and the depression and anhedonia have significantly gotten worse over the time I've been clean. I refuse to become a junkie. Even though it's all I want to do. Just use until I pass. But I can't handle the shame, the stigma, the utter disgust I felt during and after use, right along side the happiness I felt- delusional happiness perhaps, but happiness nonetheless. So I had to stop. Even though I liked it. Even though I felt more excited about life in general than ever before. I even had passion! I was an artist. I used to love to create. Meth just enhanced that urge to create. I loved working on my collages. I went to college, something I NEVER thought would happen. Nor did my family. Even went on my own accord. There was zero pressure on me to go to college (which is something I am ok with, not upset at my parents). I was always the outcast, the black sheep, if you will. I never really fit in but I had my family. I had the four of us. For 30 years a tight family of four. Military family who moved and had to say goodbye to friends every so often. Never wanting to get too close to anyone because of it (after the fact). The goodbyes were too painful. It was all too much. But we had US. The four of us. My dad, my mom, my younger sister, and myself. And of course our two boy ginger kitties who moved out of the country and back with us. My family was my everything. No matter what happened outside of our family, there was always the sense of safety and togetherness with us. We had each other. When my dad committed suicide after feeling too much uncertainty in the civilian life, he became listless and went through a midlife crisis at 50 that ultimately resulted in his death by his own hand at 53. Ask if you wanna know more. Open book here. No BS.
Several reasons. I belong here for one. In this group where I can speak freely. I don't have to worry about judgment. I feel if someone really wants to go they will do what must be done to ensure success, therefore trying to stop anyone is fruitless. Might as well hear what we have to say prior to our self-deliverance. I would have loved to see my dad's thoughts typed on this site before he blew his head off with an assault rifle in the summer of 2016. Man, if only. The man didn't even have the decency to leave a fucking note. Nothing. Nada. Just BOOM. Done. Poof. Gone. Fuck him. I am very curious also about others' thoughts on this subject and maybe I can find a missing link or something that might make his death make more sense, even though I, myself have known for many, many years that I am meant to be a suicide. It's knowledge I cannot explain. It just is what it is. Ever since I was a child. I know I have to bring it to fruition in the right time. But things have to be perfect and in order for my success. I have done everything in my power to change my mindset, from meds (you name it) to therapy to hypnosis to EMDR to street drugs to ketamine infusion therapy to talking EXTREMELY openly to family and close friends and partners. Not once have I ever found relief from my depression. Ever. Except when I was high on meth. That's when I was the happiest I have ever felt in my life. But my family is VERY anti-drugs (street drugs) and I was raised in a military household, and blah blah. So I stopped using, even though I was happy. I went back to being sober, as I had been for 35 years prior to my first use. An ex gf hooked me on meth. I ended up kicking it after using off and on for a year and have been clean for almost two years now. I am at a crossroads. Since stopping meth, I have lost my ability to feel. I am completely anhedonic. I cannot feel genuine joy or pleasure. I am a shell of who I used to be. I have gained weight since getting sober, right now being the heaviest I've been in my adult life. I was a stick my whole life. Everyone always told me I was so beautiful. I look back at pictures and see a gorgeous woman full of love and light and hope. Not anymore. I have isolated myself and the depression and anhedonia have significantly gotten worse over the time I've been clean. I refuse to become a junkie. Even though it's all I want to do. Just use until I pass. But I can't handle the shame, the stigma, the utter disgust I felt during and after use, right along side the happiness I felt- delusional happiness perhaps, but happiness nonetheless. So I had to stop. Even though I liked it. Even though I felt more excited about life in general than ever before. I even had passion! I was an artist. I used to love to create. Meth just enhanced that urge to create. I loved working on my collages. I went to college, something I NEVER thought would happen. Nor did my family. Even went on my own accord. There was zero pressure on me to go to college (which is something I am ok with, not upset at my parents). I was always the outcast, the black sheep, if you will. I never really fit in but I had my family. I had the four of us. For 30 years a tight family of four. Military family who moved and had to say goodbye to friends every so often. Never wanting to get too close to anyone because of it (after the fact). The goodbyes were too painful. It was all too much. But we had US. The four of us. My dad, my mom, my younger sister, and myself. And of course our two boy ginger kitties who moved out of the country and back with us. My family was my everything. No matter what happened outside of our family, there was always the sense of safety and togetherness with us. We had each other. When my dad committed suicide after feeling too much uncertainty in the civilian life, he became listless and went through a midlife crisis at 50 that ultimately resulted in his death by his own hand at 53. Ask if you wanna know more. Open book here. No BS.
