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ReadyToGo7

New Member
Feb 20, 2022
4
Hello,

I created an account awhile back but don't think I ever posted. Obviously my issues aren't new, but I'm still here. I suffer from clinical depression and have for many years. I rebound, but it's always lurking. I try to avoid triggers, and there are many, but I can't tiptoe around everything all the time, so here I am.

I don't know what expectations I have from posting. Maybe I could just as well write privately in a journal, but deep down I know I welcome making connections. I don't make any anymore in the real world. I have reasons.

I feel like my life has systematically just shut down over the years. I don't want to start from the very beginning, but the real unraveling was the loss of a relationship that represented security, both financial and emotional. My primary support system fractured. I've been treading water ever since, and I have tried so hard. I have been scrambling to climb out of this hole for 15 years. Every time I've lost my footing.

I've tried just about every medication there is, I feel like, but nothing sticks. Therapies, hospitalizations, you name it. The same problems are always there, and medication and therapy can't change the realities in my life. They can't magically construct friends that aren't there, a support system that doesn't exist. Support groups can't be the shoulder you need to cry on at 3 am.

I've tried recreating myself over the years. I've changed continents. I've done online dating. I've started university studies. Nothing has stuck, and I don't know why. I feel like it's because in the end I was still working with the same rotten raw materials. Me.

So I went full circle and returned to my roots, certain this time I was starting with the basics and that familiar surroundings would allow me to fix the common denominator. But the contrast in these familiar surroundings of who I was when I left and the person who I've become, the loser, is a painful and constant reminder. I find myself avoiding people and places for fear of running into people who might recognize me. My identity in my family is the sad woman without a family of her own. I feel like an interloper in my brother's family gatherings, indeed, that is when I'm invited. I feel like even my family knows how pathetic I am. "Feel"? I know it. An adolescent has no filter, and my sister-in-law should have thought of that before she told my nephew to never listen to his aunt, among other hurtful things. I never said anything. That was years ago. That boy has grown up to be a good young man, who I'm proud of, but I'm ashamed of what he must think of me.

When I moved back I threw myself enthusiastically into volunteering at a local rescue. My heart was brimming with love for a certain homeless breed of dog, and I began fostering. I had hoped I'd found a group of people where I belonged, as well. Friends. I don't make them easily. I'm socially awkward and stunted. Throw in clinical depression, and I'm not exactly where people naturally gravitate. My whole life I drank to overcome the anxiety in social situations. Years ago I realized that, with the depression, I'd quickly drink myself into the grave, so I stopped drinking. That unfortunately also meant my coping mechanism for awkward social gatherings was gone, and I never, in spite of much effort, found ways of overcoming the social anxiety. That sort of ushered in the current era. I don't go out much.

I so loved fostering those dogs. The rescue was a large one and very active so I had regular contact. I felt super awkward at the rescue events, but the point was finding homes for the dogs so I could, as a last resort, I could escape the people by showering attention on the dogs if worse came to worst. I was proud to be part of the organization and believed in what I was doing so this was initially a godsend. I didn't have a career, children, or most other things people my age had, but I had this one purpose. My first foster was adopted. Onto the next rescue.

But these people weren't my friends. The next dog they gave me was aggressive. Indeed, he'd been returned twice, and the previous fosterers refused to take him back. I didn't get the full backstory. I got an abridged one that didn't seem so bad, and not knowing any better, new to the fostering and rescue, I agreed.

What they don't tell you in the fostering gig is that, "we're all in this together and there to help you" until the dog is in your home. At that point an aggressive dog will be put to sleep if you tell us he's not adoptable, unless, of course, you adopt him, which they'd happily allow you to do without charging adoption fees. Otherwise….

About this time is when my husband finally confessed that he'd had a child with his lover a few years before and wants a divorce. I was shattered. We didn't live together anymore, but, until three years before when he suddenly grew distant and stopped calling, he'd remained my best friend and confidante.

I begged the rescue to take back my foster. I even shared the part about my husband filing for divorce, assuming they'd support me. Instead, the emotional blackmail continued. No one else wanted to foster the dog, but they were trying to find a place for him. "If I must, I could just return him to the clinic though." The implication was clear. I didn't want this dog to die. A behaviorist felt he could be rehabilitated with the right training, but I knew that my depression had flared up and that realistically I wouldn't give this dog the training and consistency he needed. I wanted him to succeed, but I was not his best shot. I confessed to the rescue that I was barely able to look after myself at that time, much less him. It made no difference. This resulted in a genuine suicide attempt. I have no idea how I'm still here because I shouldn't be. I took what should have been a sufficient amount of drugs and alcohol, and slept for two full days.

I ended up in the hospital. The dog was in a kennel and still awaiting a foster when I got out. I ended up taking him back because I felt better and was determined to rehabilitate him. Long story short: I couldn't. I held him as he was put to sleep. The rescue was shocked I intended to continue fostering, but they likely didn't comprehend that the fostering was all I had. I still believed in the work the organization did, even if I felt they'd treated a newcomer horribly. They likely suspected I'd had to be hospitalized, but they never knew to what depths I'd actually gone. I was determined to carry on.

My depression improved. I continued to foster many dogs over the following years. My house was like a revolving door. I even ended up adopted a couple of them. I volunteered in other capacities within the organization, and I regularly went to events. Frustratingly, and typical of me, friendships never materialized though. At holiday gatherings, which the rescues themselves didn't attend, I felt awkward and felt like an outsider looking in, watching the others laugh and joke familiarly. It was like I was invisible. I watched as a couple who joined only a few months after I did became the darlings of the group. Even a couple who joined after adopting one of my fosters joined well after many and seemed to meld and blend seamlessly with the group. I remember one event I went to, a volunteer greeted me as if I were a member of the public, there to meet the dogs, not a fellow volunteer of several years. I think that was one of the last events I attended, not because I didn't want to help the dogs anymore, but because partly my spirit was just broken and couldn't weather the invisibility and self-hatred these events spurred in me anymore. The other reason was that my next foster was special needs and couldn't socialize either.

It was almost like the same nightmare scenario all over again, except this time no one, including the rescue, realized this dog had such bad issues. He wasn't as bad as the first one, but the timing was bad. My health was failing, and I'd had to drop out of my university studies, which was a huge blow. I was also selling my house and had to find somewhere for my own dogs to board for awhile, much less the rescue's dog that I was fostering. No one in the rescue would take the dog, however, so I paid several hundred for his boarding myself. At a certain point I couldn't afford it and did what the rescue advised, as "veiled" as the threat was: I returned him to the vet clinic, thinking I was telling him goodbye. In the meantime, I begged the vet at the clinic not to euthanize him. Amazingly, she didn't. She actually worked with him, and, although he was deemed "unadoptable", he was eventually unofficially adopted by the vet clinic. I was overjoyed for him. Secretly I was planning to take him back once I was resettled in my new home, which I'd just closed on.

One day I checked the rescue's weekly email update and noticed that the dog was no longer mentioned. It turns out I'd missed the email announcement that went out to everyone and was subsequently posted on social media about his adoption. There it was. A photo of him and the clinic staff and the happily ever after story. No mention of me, his fosterer of approximately two-and-a-half years. I was nowhere in the story. No mention anywhere that someone else had fed him, trained him, houses him, socialized him, loved him, paid for boarding for two months when no one in the rescue would help. All credit due to the good doctor and her clinic staff for finally coming to his rescue.

I snapped. I shouldn't have done it, but I guess years of bottles-up pain and resentment from the other foster, combined with the lack of empathy shown when I desperately needed help (a friend!) when my husband filed for divorce, the invisibility I felt at events, the lack of gratitude I felt when I saw newcomers embraced, and the silence I met when needing someone to foster this last dog, came tumbling out in a surprisingly mild group email response that I was surprised to hear of this announcement like everyone else and find myself not mentioned in this happily ever after when I was the reason he wasn't euthanized years earlier.

Since then there's been nothing but silence, except from a couple of members who emailed me directly. They were sympathetic messages from members I'd never met. In all of the five years I volunteered at the rescue, not one person I knew has contacted me since. I was deleted from the rota. No one acknowledges me. When one of my former fosters has an update, I read about it online either on social media or the rescue's website. I try to be personable and maintain contact with the people who adopted my dogs, but, like I said, people don't really naturally gravitate towards me. When the dogs have died, they don't contact me. No one does.

I've been erased from the one thing that actually meant anything to me since coming "full circle" and returning home. I'm divorced, have health issues that preclude me from physical labor of any kind, which is still pretty new to me so something I'm still learning to live with, I have no children, have no career, and legit have no friends. None. I'm even a source of ridicule to my very successful brother, hateful sister-in-law, and wonderful nephew. I have a 79-year-old mother, who thinks the sun rises and sets in me, as good mothers usually think of their children.

I feel irredeemable, hopeless, and unloveable. My mother and my dogs are the only reason I have to live. But 79-year-olds don't have much more longevity than dogs' lives do, unfortunately, and my mother doesn't want to see that it's unsustainable. I cry and cry and want someone to answer for why the world has so utterly rejected me, why life has handed me such a shit hand. I remind myself, though, that others are offered shittier hands, it's true, but I feel like my reasoning is like splicing hairs. What's the point?
 
Huntfish34

Huntfish34

Enlightened
Mar 13, 2020
1,623
I'm sorry you are having to deal with all of that, and I'm sorry I don't have much to say. I relate to numerous things you said and it Really sucks to say the Least ( feeling invisible to family , friends, relationships, resentments...) My Dad is 79 and Mom is 74. (Also have a brother who is extremely successful that is 40 ) Pretty much the Only reasons I haven't shot myself in the head already.

I'm sorry the people at the rescue treated you so poorly, very cruel and cold hearted. Nobody deserves to be treated like that Imo. I believe the dogs you fostered were lucky to have you , for however short of time that may have been.

Thoughts and prayers to you on this journey we call Life.... Take care of yourself if at all possible ♥ Godspeed -
 
R

ReadyToGo7

New Member
Feb 20, 2022
4
I'm sorry you are having to deal with all of that, and I'm sorry I don't have much to say. I relate to numerous things you said and it Really sucks to say the Least ( feeling invisible to family , friends, relationships, resentments...) My Dad is 79 and Mom is 74. (Also have a brother who is extremely successful that is 40 ) Pretty much the Only reasons I haven't shot myself in the head already.

I'm sorry the people at the rescue treated you so poorly, very cruel and cold hearted. Nobody deserves to be treated like that Imo. I believe the dogs you fostered were lucky to have you , for however short of time that may have been.

Thoughts and prayers to you on this journey we call Life.... Take care of yourself if at all possible ♥ Godspeed -
Thank you. I wish I knew how to be someone else. I mean, other people make it in this life surrounded by friends. I realize who the common denominator is. It can't always be everyone else's fault. So I know I am the maker of my universe. I feel so exhausted because I've never figured out how to change it. I'm tired of trying so hard only to end up alone.

Thank you for your warm thoughts. I was bawling reading them. I guess I've been waiting to cry.
 
magicbus77

magicbus77

Waitin on the 🚌
Mar 12, 2023
9
No matter what.your a great person in my eyes rtg7…
I pretty much live for my dogs and what ya did for the rescue goes along way with me.it's sucks to be shit on by people but screw them,those dogs I know appreciated it so very much!!!! Ty for all you did for them!
Point blank most people suck,don't let that effect you being yourself.
I wish ya well and keep your head up! Your a great person!
 
LoiteringClouds

LoiteringClouds

Tempus fugit
Feb 7, 2023
3,302
Hello,

I created an account awhile back but don't think I ever posted. Obviously my issues aren't new, but I'm still here. I suffer from clinical depression and have for many years. I rebound, but it's always lurking. I try to avoid triggers, and there are many, but I can't tiptoe around everything all the time, so here I am.

I don't know what expectations I have from posting. Maybe I could just as well write privately in a journal, but deep down I know I welcome making connections. I don't make any anymore in the real world. I have reasons.

I feel like my life has systematically just shut down over the years. I don't want to start from the very beginning, but the real unraveling was the loss of a relationship that represented security, both financial and emotional. My primary support system fractured. I've been treading water ever since, and I have tried so hard. I have been scrambling to climb out of this hole for 15 years. Every time I've lost my footing.

I've tried just about every medication there is, I feel like, but nothing sticks. Therapies, hospitalizations, you name it. The same problems are always there, and medication and therapy can't change the realities in my life. They can't magically construct friends that aren't there, a support system that doesn't exist. Support groups can't be the shoulder you need to cry on at 3 am.

I've tried recreating myself over the years. I've changed continents. I've done online dating. I've started university studies. Nothing has stuck, and I don't know why. I feel like it's because in the end I was still working with the same rotten raw materials. Me.

So I went full circle and returned to my roots, certain this time I was starting with the basics and that familiar surroundings would allow me to fix the common denominator. But the contrast in these familiar surroundings of who I was when I left and the person who I've become, the loser, is a painful and constant reminder. I find myself avoiding people and places for fear of running into people who might recognize me. My identity in my family is the sad woman without a family of her own. I feel like an interloper in my brother's family gatherings, indeed, that is when I'm invited. I feel like even my family knows how pathetic I am. "Feel"? I know it. An adolescent has no filter, and my sister-in-law should have thought of that before she told my nephew to never listen to his aunt, among other hurtful things. I never said anything. That was years ago. That boy has grown up to be a good young man, who I'm proud of, but I'm ashamed of what he must think of me.

When I moved back I threw myself enthusiastically into volunteering at a local rescue. My heart was brimming with love for a certain homeless breed of dog, and I began fostering. I had hoped I'd found a group of people where I belonged, as well. Friends. I don't make them easily. I'm socially awkward and stunted. Throw in clinical depression, and I'm not exactly where people naturally gravitate. My whole life I drank to overcome the anxiety in social situations. Years ago I realized that, with the depression, I'd quickly drink myself into the grave, so I stopped drinking. That unfortunately also meant my coping mechanism for awkward social gatherings was gone, and I never, in spite of much effort, found ways of overcoming the social anxiety. That sort of ushered in the current era. I don't go out much.

I so loved fostering those dogs. The rescue was a large one and very active so I had regular contact. I felt super awkward at the rescue events, but the point was finding homes for the dogs so I could, as a last resort, I could escape the people by showering attention on the dogs if worse came to worst. I was proud to be part of the organization and believed in what I was doing so this was initially a godsend. I didn't have a career, children, or most other things people my age had, but I had this one purpose. My first foster was adopted. Onto the next rescue.

But these people weren't my friends. The next dog they gave me was aggressive. Indeed, he'd been returned twice, and the previous fosterers refused to take him back. I didn't get the full backstory. I got an abridged one that didn't seem so bad, and not knowing any better, new to the fostering and rescue, I agreed.

What they don't tell you in the fostering gig is that, "we're all in this together and there to help you" until the dog is in your home. At that point an aggressive dog will be put to sleep if you tell us he's not adoptable, unless, of course, you adopt him, which they'd happily allow you to do without charging adoption fees. Otherwise….

About this time is when my husband finally confessed that he'd had a child with his lover a few years before and wants a divorce. I was shattered. We didn't live together anymore, but, until three years before when he suddenly grew distant and stopped calling, he'd remained my best friend and confidante.

I begged the rescue to take back my foster. I even shared the part about my husband filing for divorce, assuming they'd support me. Instead, the emotional blackmail continued. No one else wanted to foster the dog, but they were trying to find a place for him. "If I must, I could just return him to the clinic though." The implication was clear. I didn't want this dog to die. A behaviorist felt he could be rehabilitated with the right training, but I knew that my depression had flared up and that realistically I wouldn't give this dog the training and consistency he needed. I wanted him to succeed, but I was not his best shot. I confessed to the rescue that I was barely able to look after myself at that time, much less him. It made no difference. This resulted in a genuine suicide attempt. I have no idea how I'm still here because I shouldn't be. I took what should have been a sufficient amount of drugs and alcohol, and slept for two full days.

I ended up in the hospital. The dog was in a kennel and still awaiting a foster when I got out. I ended up taking him back because I felt better and was determined to rehabilitate him. Long story short: I couldn't. I held him as he was put to sleep. The rescue was shocked I intended to continue fostering, but they likely didn't comprehend that the fostering was all I had. I still believed in the work the organization did, even if I felt they'd treated a newcomer horribly. They likely suspected I'd had to be hospitalized, but they never knew to what depths I'd actually gone. I was determined to carry on.

My depression improved. I continued to foster many dogs over the following years. My house was like a revolving door. I even ended up adopted a couple of them. I volunteered in other capacities within the organization, and I regularly went to events. Frustratingly, and typical of me, friendships never materialized though. At holiday gatherings, which the rescues themselves didn't attend, I felt awkward and felt like an outsider looking in, watching the others laugh and joke familiarly. It was like I was invisible. I watched as a couple who joined only a few months after I did became the darlings of the group. Even a couple who joined after adopting one of my fosters joined well after many and seemed to meld and blend seamlessly with the group. I remember one event I went to, a volunteer greeted me as if I were a member of the public, there to meet the dogs, not a fellow volunteer of several years. I think that was one of the last events I attended, not because I didn't want to help the dogs anymore, but because partly my spirit was just broken and couldn't weather the invisibility and self-hatred these events spurred in me anymore. The other reason was that my next foster was special needs and couldn't socialize either.

It was almost like the same nightmare scenario all over again, except this time no one, including the rescue, realized this dog had such bad issues. He wasn't as bad as the first one, but the timing was bad. My health was failing, and I'd had to drop out of my university studies, which was a huge blow. I was also selling my house and had to find somewhere for my own dogs to board for awhile, much less the rescue's dog that I was fostering. No one in the rescue would take the dog, however, so I paid several hundred for his boarding myself. At a certain point I couldn't afford it and did what the rescue advised, as "veiled" as the threat was: I returned him to the vet clinic, thinking I was telling him goodbye. In the meantime, I begged the vet at the clinic not to euthanize him. Amazingly, she didn't. She actually worked with him, and, although he was deemed "unadoptable", he was eventually unofficially adopted by the vet clinic. I was overjoyed for him. Secretly I was planning to take him back once I was resettled in my new home, which I'd just closed on.

One day I checked the rescue's weekly email update and noticed that the dog was no longer mentioned. It turns out I'd missed the email announcement that went out to everyone and was subsequently posted on social media about his adoption. There it was. A photo of him and the clinic staff and the happily ever after story. No mention of me, his fosterer of approximately two-and-a-half years. I was nowhere in the story. No mention anywhere that someone else had fed him, trained him, houses him, socialized him, loved him, paid for boarding for two months when no one in the rescue would help. All credit due to the good doctor and her clinic staff for finally coming to his rescue.

I snapped. I shouldn't have done it, but I guess years of bottles-up pain and resentment from the other foster, combined with the lack of empathy shown when I desperately needed help (a friend!) when my husband filed for divorce, the invisibility I felt at events, the lack of gratitude I felt when I saw newcomers embraced, and the silence I met when needing someone to foster this last dog, came tumbling out in a surprisingly mild group email response that I was surprised to hear of this announcement like everyone else and find myself not mentioned in this happily ever after when I was the reason he wasn't euthanized years earlier.

Since then there's been nothing but silence, except from a couple of members who emailed me directly. They were sympathetic messages from members I'd never met. In all of the five years I volunteered at the rescue, not one person I knew has contacted me since. I was deleted from the rota. No one acknowledges me. When one of my former fosters has an update, I read about it online either on social media or the rescue's website. I try to be personable and maintain contact with the people who adopted my dogs, but, like I said, people don't really naturally gravitate towards me. When the dogs have died, they don't contact me. No one does.

I've been erased from the one thing that actually meant anything to me since coming "full circle" and returning home. I'm divorced, have health issues that preclude me from physical labor of any kind, which is still pretty new to me so something I'm still learning to live with, I have no children, have no career, and legit have no friends. None. I'm even a source of ridicule to my very successful brother, hateful sister-in-law, and wonderful nephew. I have a 79-year-old mother, who thinks the sun rises and sets in me, as good mothers usually think of their children.

I feel irredeemable, hopeless, and unloveable. My mother and my dogs are the only reason I have to live. But 79-year-olds don't have much more longevity than dogs' lives do, unfortunately, and my mother doesn't want to see that it's unsustainable. I cry and cry and want someone to answer for why the world has so utterly rejected me, why life has handed me such a shit hand. I remind myself, though, that others are offered shittier hands, it's true, but I feel like my reasoning is like splicing hairs. What's the point?
I'm so sorry that you ended up here but anyway welcome to this forum.
Your story is heartbreaking. Your life is hard enough, even without clinical depression. Everybody seems to wronged you. You are a very caring person, but you haven't received care and respect you deserve as a human. I think dogs know how great you are...

I might be able to be a shoulder which you can cry on at literally 3 AM (I live in Japan. )

I wish you the best 💙💛
 
Huntfish34

Huntfish34

Enlightened
Mar 13, 2020
1,623
For sure, You are welcome. Just calling it as I see it.... And I know exactly what you mean, lately if I hear a certain song, see a particular commercial on TV, read a post on here..... Or Whatever it may be..... Here come the tears , bawling like a damn mad man . I get it -
 
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FuneralCry

FuneralCry

She wished that she never existed...
Sep 24, 2020
33,361
I'm sorry that you've suffered so much in life, life really is just so incredibly cruel, and I think that the reality is that you just cannot trust and rely on humans in this world. But anyway, I wish you the best.
 
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R

ReadyToGo7

New Member
Feb 20, 2022
4
Thank you to everyone for the supportive words. I'm feeling much better now. The skies have cleared for now, and things don't look as dark. It is always like this with depression. Although, when I reread the post I wrote in the depths of depression, I note that nothing I said is untrue, with the darkness lifted I see things to be hopeful about.
 
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Sparr0w

Sparr0w

please feed my pfp crumbs they are begging u
Jan 24, 2023
300
Feeling really down again.
wanna talk to distract yourself? if you feel like it, what was the funniest dog you fostered - or, if you don't want to think about foster dogs, what's your favourite book? :)
 

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