auDHDead
New Member
- Feb 5, 2025
- 1
I had a pretty good childhood. For the most part of my life I've been quite lucky. Financially stable thanks to my parents, I've had opportunities to travel the world for modeling, I got a triple major bachelor's degree and I'm now working (what a lie) towards my master's degree.
I started struggling with depression in high-school, at that time it was said it was due to undiagnosed ADHD, which was making me anxious because I couldn't get the grades I knew I was able to. I was born anxious though, I've never not known anxiety. My parents never berated me for bad grades because they knew I was ten times harder on myself than they could ever be.
It really all started falling apart after school, when I started varsity. I'd never received any help other than medication for the ADHD, and I was struggling badly. I was barely eating, I was avoiding people for days to weeks at a time...my parents didn't know exactly how hard I was struggling, because I'd perfected hiding my feelings. I hated myself and my brain because I thought I had no reason to feel the way I did, to struggle the way I was, to have such piss poor grades.
Fast forward 3 years. I had a BMI of 18.1, starving myself was addictive, it made me feel better (it had 0 to do with body image). But the depression had just gotten too bad, and no anti-depressants were helping. I went to a psychiatrist and told her that either she helps me or I just commit suicide. I was booked into a psychiatric hospital, after about a week I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Put on meds, cool. Everything will get better now, right? It did, for a while, maybe it was the huge burden off my shoulders of constantly lying to the people I love about how happy I am and great my life is. My parents were shocked, but supportive. They're always supportive.
Well, I went back to the psychiatric hospital almost every year, I'd just get to point where I could not cope, and my meds would be adjusted.
Fast forward another 7 years, I was finally diagnosed as autistic (with ADHD). It made a hell of a lot more sense than bipolar disorder. Bipolar never really fit me completely and there was so much it didn't explain. I had tried for years to explain that my social anxiety is a lot more than just the dsm-v definition of it. I don't understand people, I have always felt like an alien trying to pretend it's human. Most conversations I've had in my life have been riddled with misunderstandings and people getting upset about things I say and I'd have no idea why. The anxiety from the perfectionism...everything I do has always had to be perfect, since I can remember, or my whole world would be in turmoil. There's so much more.
I had hoped this was the answer, that somehow knowing what's wrong with me would help me fix it, but it's not. Instead I'm just hyper aware of how completely fucked I am. I am burned out, and all those "mood episodes" I had were also burn out. I don't know if I can recover from this burn out this time. I feel like I am literally losing the ability to do basic things, nevermind the complex work required to do my master's. I feel tired, everything makes me cognitively tired. Just trying to make a shopping list feels like a calculus math problem. I almost made our national maths team in high school, but I struggled in the large venues with so many people...now, basic addition or multiplication feels draining. I don't feel capable of high-level functioning anymore. I don't know how to get out of this, and even if I do, I'll probably just feel this away again soon. My parents are literally the only reason I haven't committed suicide. I can't cause them that pain. But they're both in their 70's, and when they're gone, there will be no reason for me not to do it.
I started struggling with depression in high-school, at that time it was said it was due to undiagnosed ADHD, which was making me anxious because I couldn't get the grades I knew I was able to. I was born anxious though, I've never not known anxiety. My parents never berated me for bad grades because they knew I was ten times harder on myself than they could ever be.
It really all started falling apart after school, when I started varsity. I'd never received any help other than medication for the ADHD, and I was struggling badly. I was barely eating, I was avoiding people for days to weeks at a time...my parents didn't know exactly how hard I was struggling, because I'd perfected hiding my feelings. I hated myself and my brain because I thought I had no reason to feel the way I did, to struggle the way I was, to have such piss poor grades.
Fast forward 3 years. I had a BMI of 18.1, starving myself was addictive, it made me feel better (it had 0 to do with body image). But the depression had just gotten too bad, and no anti-depressants were helping. I went to a psychiatrist and told her that either she helps me or I just commit suicide. I was booked into a psychiatric hospital, after about a week I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Put on meds, cool. Everything will get better now, right? It did, for a while, maybe it was the huge burden off my shoulders of constantly lying to the people I love about how happy I am and great my life is. My parents were shocked, but supportive. They're always supportive.
Well, I went back to the psychiatric hospital almost every year, I'd just get to point where I could not cope, and my meds would be adjusted.
Fast forward another 7 years, I was finally diagnosed as autistic (with ADHD). It made a hell of a lot more sense than bipolar disorder. Bipolar never really fit me completely and there was so much it didn't explain. I had tried for years to explain that my social anxiety is a lot more than just the dsm-v definition of it. I don't understand people, I have always felt like an alien trying to pretend it's human. Most conversations I've had in my life have been riddled with misunderstandings and people getting upset about things I say and I'd have no idea why. The anxiety from the perfectionism...everything I do has always had to be perfect, since I can remember, or my whole world would be in turmoil. There's so much more.
I had hoped this was the answer, that somehow knowing what's wrong with me would help me fix it, but it's not. Instead I'm just hyper aware of how completely fucked I am. I am burned out, and all those "mood episodes" I had were also burn out. I don't know if I can recover from this burn out this time. I feel like I am literally losing the ability to do basic things, nevermind the complex work required to do my master's. I feel tired, everything makes me cognitively tired. Just trying to make a shopping list feels like a calculus math problem. I almost made our national maths team in high school, but I struggled in the large venues with so many people...now, basic addition or multiplication feels draining. I don't feel capable of high-level functioning anymore. I don't know how to get out of this, and even if I do, I'll probably just feel this away again soon. My parents are literally the only reason I haven't committed suicide. I can't cause them that pain. But they're both in their 70's, and when they're gone, there will be no reason for me not to do it.
