Spades
he/him
- Jul 7, 2023
- 44
I've lurked about this site for about 2 years now? At least I think so anyway.
The days, months, and now years at this point all blend together into an unrecognizable blob of nauseating colors and images. To say I've lost my grasp on time would be an understatement.
I've been on a multitude of different medications from my pre-teens to now ranging from anti-depressants to anti-psychotics,
tried my best to make all kinds of therapy work from EMDR, talk, CBT
(no, not that kind, I don't judge, but I can't say that's ever been my forte, though I can't say I'm vanilla either)
You've likely heard all this before, but have you ever read an introduction post to a site like this with an immature and overused CBT joke?
I hope you haven't because I'm afraid that's all I have to offer in terms of originality.
In all seriousness, and unnecessary formalities aside,
I fucking hate how this experience is somehow both common and uncommon. I hate how much abuse I and so many others have experienced within the medical industry, I hate how I always have to pretend to be someone else because others find the severity of my depression off-putting, I hate how lonely I feel,
Even in the few moments where I feel some semblance of relief, it's always so short lived in comparison to the moments where I can't stop sobbing.
I'm never able to actually sit down and enjoy it. Instead, I dread when that moment is over, because I know the next will be Hellish; it's just so difficult to exist without wanting to hurl myself off of a building that's far too short to actually kill me.
I can go on and on, in fact, I can do this all day if it weren't so repetitive! There's so much on my mind that I can't ever say out loud, too much to put into one post.
Or, I mean, I COULD technically do that, I don't think there's a word limit? Though, I'd prefer to vent about those things when they're bouncing around in my head and won't leave me alone.
A person can only read so many run-on sentences before they want to pull their hair out. (Apologies for that)
On a somewhat lighter note, one of these days I'll post in the off topic section (or in the philosophy section because this story can't really be talked about without bringing up philosophy) about my all time favorite depiction of suicide and self hatred in fiction because that's something I've wanted to get off my chest for ages that I can't anywhere else.
And it's not a piece of media I've seen discussed here in my 2 years of lurking, in fact, I never see it brought up at all anywhere! Probably because it's about ponies with guns, not a place you'd expect a well written story with complex characters who want to kill themselves really.
Normal people typically don't off handedly mention their favorite depiction of suicide and self hatred in fiction, so I've never had the chance to bring it up.
Even though I desperately wanted to because I'm autistic and this story is a special interest of mine that I hold dear to my heart while also acknowledging the more problematic aspects that are not at all justified by being written in 2013.
I need to keep up the illusion of being a normal and well adjusted adult who you can trust to order packages that absolutely do not contain substances that can kill me if in a large enough dose.
As normal people do, in their normal homes wearing their normal clothes, sipping their normal coffees as they listen to Iheartradio or something.
The days, months, and now years at this point all blend together into an unrecognizable blob of nauseating colors and images. To say I've lost my grasp on time would be an understatement.
I've been on a multitude of different medications from my pre-teens to now ranging from anti-depressants to anti-psychotics,
tried my best to make all kinds of therapy work from EMDR, talk, CBT
(no, not that kind, I don't judge, but I can't say that's ever been my forte, though I can't say I'm vanilla either)
You've likely heard all this before, but have you ever read an introduction post to a site like this with an immature and overused CBT joke?
I hope you haven't because I'm afraid that's all I have to offer in terms of originality.
In all seriousness, and unnecessary formalities aside,
I fucking hate how this experience is somehow both common and uncommon. I hate how much abuse I and so many others have experienced within the medical industry, I hate how I always have to pretend to be someone else because others find the severity of my depression off-putting, I hate how lonely I feel,
Even in the few moments where I feel some semblance of relief, it's always so short lived in comparison to the moments where I can't stop sobbing.
I'm never able to actually sit down and enjoy it. Instead, I dread when that moment is over, because I know the next will be Hellish; it's just so difficult to exist without wanting to hurl myself off of a building that's far too short to actually kill me.
I can go on and on, in fact, I can do this all day if it weren't so repetitive! There's so much on my mind that I can't ever say out loud, too much to put into one post.
Or, I mean, I COULD technically do that, I don't think there's a word limit? Though, I'd prefer to vent about those things when they're bouncing around in my head and won't leave me alone.
A person can only read so many run-on sentences before they want to pull their hair out. (Apologies for that)
On a somewhat lighter note, one of these days I'll post in the off topic section (or in the philosophy section because this story can't really be talked about without bringing up philosophy) about my all time favorite depiction of suicide and self hatred in fiction because that's something I've wanted to get off my chest for ages that I can't anywhere else.
And it's not a piece of media I've seen discussed here in my 2 years of lurking, in fact, I never see it brought up at all anywhere! Probably because it's about ponies with guns, not a place you'd expect a well written story with complex characters who want to kill themselves really.
Normal people typically don't off handedly mention their favorite depiction of suicide and self hatred in fiction, so I've never had the chance to bring it up.
Even though I desperately wanted to because I'm autistic and this story is a special interest of mine that I hold dear to my heart while also acknowledging the more problematic aspects that are not at all justified by being written in 2013.
I need to keep up the illusion of being a normal and well adjusted adult who you can trust to order packages that absolutely do not contain substances that can kill me if in a large enough dose.
As normal people do, in their normal homes wearing their normal clothes, sipping their normal coffees as they listen to Iheartradio or something.
