notrealmatthew
The kindest are the most suffering
- Aug 27, 2023
- 56
Hello, SaSu Community!
I`m new here, so hopefully we can find a good contact! Here`s my story of the last 4 years, since everything started.
Also i want to apologize for my English: my main language is Russian. I know English pretty well (B2, mostly for listening and translating), but i`m realy bad at text grammar.
All of the following text will be written by myself and, sometimes, with google translator help)
Some info about me:
- 21 y.o. (will be 22 in a few monts)
- Born and live in Russia
- Got diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)
- Gambling addicted for almost 5 years (it is closely related to the diagnos)
- Was addicted to self-harm (cuts for a change of focus, an escape from emotion)
- Got 4 suicide attempts (Hude illegal drugs OD, Roof jump (SI fail), pills OD (I.C.U., 3 days coma), pills OD (underdose for damage))
- Was sent to a psychiatric hospital 4 times (twice by my decision, twice forced)
I will try my best for not making this text too big, but I can't promise: now we will remember all those details, that I haven't discussed with anyone for a long time.
P.S. Well now, when i finished "Chapter 1", i see, that there is a much more text, than i expected. So get ready, it will take a while to read all of it.
You can ask me about anything you want.
I`m new here, so hopefully we can find a good contact! Here`s my story of the last 4 years, since everything started.
Also i want to apologize for my English: my main language is Russian. I know English pretty well (B2, mostly for listening and translating), but i`m realy bad at text grammar.
All of the following text will be written by myself and, sometimes, with google translator help)
Some info about me:
- 21 y.o. (will be 22 in a few monts)
- Born and live in Russia
- Got diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)
- Gambling addicted for almost 5 years (it is closely related to the diagnos)
- Was addicted to self-harm (cuts for a change of focus, an escape from emotion)
- Got 4 suicide attempts (Hude illegal drugs OD, Roof jump (SI fail), pills OD (I.C.U., 3 days coma), pills OD (underdose for damage))
- Was sent to a psychiatric hospital 4 times (twice by my decision, twice forced)
Still gambling addicted. Still play, I can lose other people's money, even close people. Impulsive acts, like self-harm or CTB. Also still have unstable borderline state. 4 attempts CTB, one of them is huge. The value of life has long been lost. Ruined so much relationship's with my friends, familys, new friends. Selfishness.
The path to success lies through mistakes. But the price of these mistakes is too high, and the success is not worth it. How many more people do I have to hurt to get even one bit further? I'm not ready to keep starting all over again and immediately destroying it. Why can't you just give it up? Why do I keep trying to move on? Idk... Maybe im waiting for another impulsive action? Which will hurt someone? Idiot...
The path to success lies through mistakes. But the price of these mistakes is too high, and the success is not worth it. How many more people do I have to hurt to get even one bit further? I'm not ready to keep starting all over again and immediately destroying it. Why can't you just give it up? Why do I keep trying to move on? Idk... Maybe im waiting for another impulsive action? Which will hurt someone? Idiot...
I will try my best for not making this text too big, but I can't promise: now we will remember all those details, that I haven't discussed with anyone for a long time.
P.S. Well now, when i finished "Chapter 1", i see, that there is a much more text, than i expected. So get ready, it will take a while to read all of it.
It all started on the eve of COVID. I was 18, in a relationship with a girl, an optimistic and kind kid, had a lot of friends and two years of various jobs behind my back.
When everyone started losing their jobs amidst the COVID lockdown, I was lucky enough to find the first high-paying and uncomplicated remote job. Living in a small apartment with my parents and two younger sisters in isolation was hard, so with my first paycheck I moved into an even smaller apartment of my friend, shared with him, my best friend and her boyfriend. It was my first experience of independent and self-sufficient living, I was thrilled!
But I was unlucky enough to accidentally see an advertisement for a casino website. And I was even more unlucky to win there immediately, which increased my interest in my new hobby. Soon I lost my savings, in connection with this foolishly got involved in microloans from various organizations. After the next big loss, I put out the cigarette on my hand. I wanted to punish myself. I wanted to leave a scar that would remind me of the consequences of gambling, that would stop me next time.
That's where this horrible endless cycle of suffering began.
In just three months, I:
- Lost my job twice
- Destroyed relationships with my friends, as all conversations ended with me asking to borrow money.
- Regularly lost every penny I had.
- Avoided seeing my girlfriend, family, friends.
- Completely hid the presence of financial and emotional problems I had, closed myself off.
I believed that I had no right to ask for help, as I made the decision to start living on my own and I was the cause of all the problems that arose.
This led to severe depression and dissociation. Being convinced that earning money would solve all the problems, I impulsively started to distribute drugs (in Russia it is called "treasure", when a small weight is hidden somewhere in the city and the buyer gets its coordinates). And right at the start of work my phone breaks down and I am left with absolutely no money, no phone, alone, depressive-suicidal mood, but with 23 grams (euphoretic, mephedrone).
It was a dead end. I was destroyed.
After studying forums and reading several papers with lethal dose tests on animals, I found out that 19-20 grams at a time is quite an impressive chance to die from an overdose. I decided that this was the way to go. The guilt was unbearably intense. I blamed myself for everything, and I saw no way out (a familiar feeling to many I'm sure).
And I was willing to do anything to get rid of these emotions and get punished as soon as possible.
I added all the drugs to a glass of water and took a small sip.
This liquid burned my whole mouth and instantly gave me the effects of not a weak overdose. In addition to all the obvious effects, to my surprise, my pain threshold completely disappeared. With a freshly sharpened knife, I made a long, beautiful cut along my leg. Not very deep, but noticeable.
[Warning: the following should not be taken seriously as I was heavily drugged]
At that moment I realized that I had complete freedom. That the pain that had previously frightened me had disappeared and I, given my depressive suicidal mood with guilt, made about 76 cuts during the night, not deep but visible to the eye: on my chest, arms, legs. I recorded all my actions on a half-alive laptop, periodically taking new little sips. After a while, I started to feel pain again. And I liked it, because my brain was completely focused on the cuts and drug trip, not the guilt I was so eager to block out.
In the morning, I drank the rest of the liquid (2/3 of the start amount).
A little over 24 hours later - I woke up (It turns out I was reacting to my surroundings during the day, but solely as a vegetable, which I don't remember due to brief amnesia.).
And I was extremely disappointed with this comeback.
When everyone started losing their jobs amidst the COVID lockdown, I was lucky enough to find the first high-paying and uncomplicated remote job. Living in a small apartment with my parents and two younger sisters in isolation was hard, so with my first paycheck I moved into an even smaller apartment of my friend, shared with him, my best friend and her boyfriend. It was my first experience of independent and self-sufficient living, I was thrilled!
But I was unlucky enough to accidentally see an advertisement for a casino website. And I was even more unlucky to win there immediately, which increased my interest in my new hobby. Soon I lost my savings, in connection with this foolishly got involved in microloans from various organizations. After the next big loss, I put out the cigarette on my hand. I wanted to punish myself. I wanted to leave a scar that would remind me of the consequences of gambling, that would stop me next time.
That's where this horrible endless cycle of suffering began.
In just three months, I:
- Lost my job twice
- Destroyed relationships with my friends, as all conversations ended with me asking to borrow money.
- Regularly lost every penny I had.
- Avoided seeing my girlfriend, family, friends.
- Completely hid the presence of financial and emotional problems I had, closed myself off.
I believed that I had no right to ask for help, as I made the decision to start living on my own and I was the cause of all the problems that arose.
This led to severe depression and dissociation. Being convinced that earning money would solve all the problems, I impulsively started to distribute drugs (in Russia it is called "treasure", when a small weight is hidden somewhere in the city and the buyer gets its coordinates). And right at the start of work my phone breaks down and I am left with absolutely no money, no phone, alone, depressive-suicidal mood, but with 23 grams (euphoretic, mephedrone).
It was a dead end. I was destroyed.
After studying forums and reading several papers with lethal dose tests on animals, I found out that 19-20 grams at a time is quite an impressive chance to die from an overdose. I decided that this was the way to go. The guilt was unbearably intense. I blamed myself for everything, and I saw no way out (a familiar feeling to many I'm sure).
And I was willing to do anything to get rid of these emotions and get punished as soon as possible.
I added all the drugs to a glass of water and took a small sip.
This liquid burned my whole mouth and instantly gave me the effects of not a weak overdose. In addition to all the obvious effects, to my surprise, my pain threshold completely disappeared. With a freshly sharpened knife, I made a long, beautiful cut along my leg. Not very deep, but noticeable.
[Warning: the following should not be taken seriously as I was heavily drugged]
At that moment I realized that I had complete freedom. That the pain that had previously frightened me had disappeared and I, given my depressive suicidal mood with guilt, made about 76 cuts during the night, not deep but visible to the eye: on my chest, arms, legs. I recorded all my actions on a half-alive laptop, periodically taking new little sips. After a while, I started to feel pain again. And I liked it, because my brain was completely focused on the cuts and drug trip, not the guilt I was so eager to block out.
In the morning, I drank the rest of the liquid (2/3 of the start amount).
A little over 24 hours later - I woke up (It turns out I was reacting to my surroundings during the day, but solely as a vegetable, which I don't remember due to brief amnesia.).
And I was extremely disappointed with this comeback.
After a while, I did get to see my girlfriend. At home, she tried to hug me, but because of the pain from the cuts, I pushed her away. In response to her lack of understanding, I had to show her my cuts.
I will never forget her face then. How much pain was in those eyes, how helpless she felt at that moment.
And that's when I broke her. What was I thinking? What did she do to deserve that? Wasn't it enough to ruin my life? Why would I do such a traumatic thing to her? I should have continued to remain silent, should leave the problems only to myself.
A week later, my friend evicted me, I moved back in with my parents. A couple days later, I turned 19, but I felt even worse.
The next week I ran away to another big city I'd never been to. I ran away without a phone, without telling anyone, impulsively, hoping to start fresh, without anyone's help, trying to forget the horror of it all.
My parents reported me missing and somehow found out about my suicide attempt and numerous cuts. When I found out that the police were looking for me, I contacted my parents. My older brother, along with them, helped me financially, so that I could settle down and start a new path in peace.
But I was disappointed in myself, because I had promised myself that I would not accept their help, because I did not deserve it. I didn't want to ask for help, I didn't want to get help. I had to do everything myself. Because everything they would do for me would eventually be lost, devalued because of my mistakes. Yes, I had a severe manic phase with tremendous guilt, which was reinforced by a gambling addiction. But I never told anyone about it (gambling addiction and the main causes of all events), convinced that it was my problem. And I should solve them myself, without their help (and even here I failed by accepting their help).
The next six months destroyed everything alive inside me.
I lived for free in a small room of a new friend in an old communal apartment, who left for this time to another city. I ate very little, occasionally eating canned food. Added to all the old guilt was the guilt of abandoning all my loved ones, literally losing everyone, setting them up. Guilt for breaking my now ex-girlfriend's life, for traumatizing my family. Guilt over the incredible amount of lies to everyone around me.
This whole storm of emotions was eating me up from the inside out every fucking day. And the only thing I was good at was ignoring those feelings. And that's where Self Harm helped me.
During those six months of living in a new city, for about 5 months, I made minor but sensitive cuts on my arms and chest every day. Not much, but enough to distract myself. This is the stage where self-harm went from a punishment to a happy substitute for emotional pain.
I will never forget her face then. How much pain was in those eyes, how helpless she felt at that moment.
And that's when I broke her. What was I thinking? What did she do to deserve that? Wasn't it enough to ruin my life? Why would I do such a traumatic thing to her? I should have continued to remain silent, should leave the problems only to myself.
A week later, my friend evicted me, I moved back in with my parents. A couple days later, I turned 19, but I felt even worse.
The next week I ran away to another big city I'd never been to. I ran away without a phone, without telling anyone, impulsively, hoping to start fresh, without anyone's help, trying to forget the horror of it all.
My parents reported me missing and somehow found out about my suicide attempt and numerous cuts. When I found out that the police were looking for me, I contacted my parents. My older brother, along with them, helped me financially, so that I could settle down and start a new path in peace.
But I was disappointed in myself, because I had promised myself that I would not accept their help, because I did not deserve it. I didn't want to ask for help, I didn't want to get help. I had to do everything myself. Because everything they would do for me would eventually be lost, devalued because of my mistakes. Yes, I had a severe manic phase with tremendous guilt, which was reinforced by a gambling addiction. But I never told anyone about it (gambling addiction and the main causes of all events), convinced that it was my problem. And I should solve them myself, without their help (and even here I failed by accepting their help).
The next six months destroyed everything alive inside me.
I lived for free in a small room of a new friend in an old communal apartment, who left for this time to another city. I ate very little, occasionally eating canned food. Added to all the old guilt was the guilt of abandoning all my loved ones, literally losing everyone, setting them up. Guilt for breaking my now ex-girlfriend's life, for traumatizing my family. Guilt over the incredible amount of lies to everyone around me.
This whole storm of emotions was eating me up from the inside out every fucking day. And the only thing I was good at was ignoring those feelings. And that's where Self Harm helped me.
During those six months of living in a new city, for about 5 months, I made minor but sensitive cuts on my arms and chest every day. Not much, but enough to distract myself. This is the stage where self-harm went from a punishment to a happy substitute for emotional pain.
After a significant deterioration in my mental state, under the guidance of my older brother (he makes further attempts to help me than anyone else in the near future), I returned to my parents.
Upon my return to them, almost a year and a half after my gambling addiction began, I had to tell them about it. It explained a lot of things to them. At first they couldn't believe it because they had never dealt with addictions before, especially gambling addictions. But they studied open source materials and sincerely started trying to help me. That's awesome, I appreciate it. It was only at that time that I started to really appreciate their help. Up until a certain point.
After a certain amount of time, I got a job as a barista. I really liked it, but in an effort to get it right as soon as possible, I was chasing the paycheck. I worked six days a week, 15 hours a day. After a month with this schedule, I got burnout and impulsively lost a small amount of money that belonged to my best friend. It was a big blow to me.
From the beginning of my whole story, impulsiveness plays a huge role in my actions, which is characteristic of my diagnosis (borderline personality disorder). But at that time I didn't know about my diagnosis, and therefore I was sure that the cause of all my problems was my gambling addiction and selfishness.
That night, wanting to instantly correct an impulsive mistake, I did something out of the ordinary. I drove to my job, then took cash out of the till and deposited it in an online casino, hoping to get back what I had lost without anyone knowing about it (I couldn't think of any other way to solve the problem, of course, being in a manic impulsive state). Of course I lost everything.
As soon as I lost the money, I realized what I had done. I had just committed a criminal offense. I had literally stolen money from the cash register. For the fucking casino. What the fuck?
I was in shock. And the only thing I was thinking was, "If I committed one crime without thinking, I'll probably do it again. What if I kill someone?" I was so disgusted that I instantly came to the decision to end my life. Because that's not the kind of life I want. I'm not ready for it. Too much shit has happened. I'm not taking it out, I'm just making it worse. No one deserves to suffer like this because of my mistakes, so let me make one last "mistake".
I went up to the 22nd floor of our house.
Dawn, 5:00 a.m. I stood on the railing at my full height, holding onto the wall with my right hand. I wanted to take a step. I begged myself to take a step. But the instinct of self-preservation stopped me.
"If I can't rid the world of my existence this way, then I will isolate myself in another way." With that thought in mind, I walked down to the police station next door. Of course it's funny to remember it now, how silly it must have looked from the outside..... But at the time I was dead serious. I reported my crime, they took me up to the investigator.
He accepted my statement, but refused to arrest me, as the victim does not even know about the crime yet (by the way, this investigator was in charge of my disappearance case when I ran away to another city). When I heard this, I started to tell him about my experience of drug distribution. He immediately stopped me. Now I realize how lucky I was that he turned out to be adequate and a good man. I told him that I wanted to be isolated, to which he called me an ambulance.
The psychiatrist who arrived, unlike the paramedics, took my stories of suicide attempt, self-harm, and gambling addiction seriously. While we were on our way to the hospital, I contacted my brother and alerted him to the situation.
I was admitted to the city psychiatric hospital for a month. For half of the month I was in the general wards in a state of a vegetable. The other half I was in a sanatorium ward with depressed old people.
My attending psychiatrist met with me only once, after which he diagnosed me with depression and prescribed pills.
If anyone is interested in those pills: Carbamazepine 200gm, Quetiapine 200gm (neuroleptics, horse dose), and antidepressants I can't remember.
Minor spoiler: The diagnosis is wrong,
Upon my return to them, almost a year and a half after my gambling addiction began, I had to tell them about it. It explained a lot of things to them. At first they couldn't believe it because they had never dealt with addictions before, especially gambling addictions. But they studied open source materials and sincerely started trying to help me. That's awesome, I appreciate it. It was only at that time that I started to really appreciate their help. Up until a certain point.
After a certain amount of time, I got a job as a barista. I really liked it, but in an effort to get it right as soon as possible, I was chasing the paycheck. I worked six days a week, 15 hours a day. After a month with this schedule, I got burnout and impulsively lost a small amount of money that belonged to my best friend. It was a big blow to me.
From the beginning of my whole story, impulsiveness plays a huge role in my actions, which is characteristic of my diagnosis (borderline personality disorder). But at that time I didn't know about my diagnosis, and therefore I was sure that the cause of all my problems was my gambling addiction and selfishness.
That night, wanting to instantly correct an impulsive mistake, I did something out of the ordinary. I drove to my job, then took cash out of the till and deposited it in an online casino, hoping to get back what I had lost without anyone knowing about it (I couldn't think of any other way to solve the problem, of course, being in a manic impulsive state). Of course I lost everything.
As soon as I lost the money, I realized what I had done. I had just committed a criminal offense. I had literally stolen money from the cash register. For the fucking casino. What the fuck?
I was in shock. And the only thing I was thinking was, "If I committed one crime without thinking, I'll probably do it again. What if I kill someone?" I was so disgusted that I instantly came to the decision to end my life. Because that's not the kind of life I want. I'm not ready for it. Too much shit has happened. I'm not taking it out, I'm just making it worse. No one deserves to suffer like this because of my mistakes, so let me make one last "mistake".
I went up to the 22nd floor of our house.
Dawn, 5:00 a.m. I stood on the railing at my full height, holding onto the wall with my right hand. I wanted to take a step. I begged myself to take a step. But the instinct of self-preservation stopped me.
"If I can't rid the world of my existence this way, then I will isolate myself in another way." With that thought in mind, I walked down to the police station next door. Of course it's funny to remember it now, how silly it must have looked from the outside..... But at the time I was dead serious. I reported my crime, they took me up to the investigator.
He accepted my statement, but refused to arrest me, as the victim does not even know about the crime yet (by the way, this investigator was in charge of my disappearance case when I ran away to another city). When I heard this, I started to tell him about my experience of drug distribution. He immediately stopped me. Now I realize how lucky I was that he turned out to be adequate and a good man. I told him that I wanted to be isolated, to which he called me an ambulance.
The psychiatrist who arrived, unlike the paramedics, took my stories of suicide attempt, self-harm, and gambling addiction seriously. While we were on our way to the hospital, I contacted my brother and alerted him to the situation.
I was admitted to the city psychiatric hospital for a month. For half of the month I was in the general wards in a state of a vegetable. The other half I was in a sanatorium ward with depressed old people.
My attending psychiatrist met with me only once, after which he diagnosed me with depression and prescribed pills.
If anyone is interested in those pills: Carbamazepine 200gm, Quetiapine 200gm (neuroleptics, horse dose), and antidepressants I can't remember.
Minor spoiler: The diagnosis is wrong,
Wow, I've been writing this text for 3 hours now, my eyes are tired. I'll try to finish it as soon as possible.
This first experience of going to a psychiatric hospital had no result for me personally, except getting pills. I didn't learn any lesson from it, just got out of the manic-impulsive phase.
After being discharged from the psychiatric hospital, my family and I went on a little vacation for a week. They wanted to lighten things up, give me a breather. I ended up starting to play online casino games again.
When I got back in town, I got a job as a waiter. And fuck, only 3 weeks after being discharged from the hospital - my biggest suicide attempt ever.
Near morning, after staying up all night while everyone was asleep, I used my mother's phone (I had a push-button phone so I couldn't play online casino games) to check social media. Without any serious intentions, I logged into her mobile bank and saw a credit card for 150,000 rubles (then it was ~2100$). I immediately felt the desire to play big and could not resist it. First deposit of ~650$. Immediately lost. The second deposit of 750$. Lost. Card blocked due to suspicious activity.
Realization. My own mother. Absolute apathy. Emptiness in my head. At some point I notice I'm standing up and pulling out all the pills I have. I can't remember exactly now, but I will say for sure that Quetiapine 200g was over 50 pills + my prescribed antidepressants. I drank 2 handfuls of pills and took a sip of alcohol. I lay on the bed and after a minute I passed out. As it turned out, about an hour later my mother woke up and saw me lying by the toilet. She saw the packages of pills and called an ambulance. I was put in the intensive care unit. For 3 days I was in a coma, with artificial ventilation of the lungs. I remember the moment I woke up, white light from the lamps, crazy weakness. A day later I was discharged to general wards, and a week later I was sent to a psychiatric hospital.
It was in the hospital that I learned the details of everything that had happened. To my surprise, I felt no guilt for having done it. I was tired of feeling guilty. I just wanted to abstract myself from the world around me.
This first experience of going to a psychiatric hospital had no result for me personally, except getting pills. I didn't learn any lesson from it, just got out of the manic-impulsive phase.
After being discharged from the psychiatric hospital, my family and I went on a little vacation for a week. They wanted to lighten things up, give me a breather. I ended up starting to play online casino games again.
When I got back in town, I got a job as a waiter. And fuck, only 3 weeks after being discharged from the hospital - my biggest suicide attempt ever.
Near morning, after staying up all night while everyone was asleep, I used my mother's phone (I had a push-button phone so I couldn't play online casino games) to check social media. Without any serious intentions, I logged into her mobile bank and saw a credit card for 150,000 rubles (then it was ~2100$). I immediately felt the desire to play big and could not resist it. First deposit of ~650$. Immediately lost. The second deposit of 750$. Lost. Card blocked due to suspicious activity.
Realization. My own mother. Absolute apathy. Emptiness in my head. At some point I notice I'm standing up and pulling out all the pills I have. I can't remember exactly now, but I will say for sure that Quetiapine 200g was over 50 pills + my prescribed antidepressants. I drank 2 handfuls of pills and took a sip of alcohol. I lay on the bed and after a minute I passed out. As it turned out, about an hour later my mother woke up and saw me lying by the toilet. She saw the packages of pills and called an ambulance. I was put in the intensive care unit. For 3 days I was in a coma, with artificial ventilation of the lungs. I remember the moment I woke up, white light from the lamps, crazy weakness. A day later I was discharged to general wards, and a week later I was sent to a psychiatric hospital.
It was in the hospital that I learned the details of everything that had happened. To my surprise, I felt no guilt for having done it. I was tired of feeling guilty. I just wanted to abstract myself from the world around me.
This time the psychiatric hospital didn't give me a diagnosis, but they did assign me a psychologist. After I was discharged, I started working with this psychologist on a private basis.
For the next six months I worked for my brother in the field of motion design. At the same time, I worked with the psychologist on gaming addiction and on PID (officially it was not a diagnosis, but only a professional opinion of my psychologist). We worked with DBT therapy.
It was fucking amazing. For six months I got answers to all the questions that had been coming up for the past 2.5 years. I worked on the issues, but it takes long term work to get results.
Six months later the war with Ukraine started (my condolences to everyone who lost loved ones in that war). I fled from Russia with my friends and girlfriend to Armenia, as I was fit for military service and at that time I had faith in my life. I ended up living in a foreign country for 3 months and got a part-time job as a barista. I ended up stealing money from my girlfriend. Fucked up, huh? But we worked it out, we talked about it. Gambling addiction combined with erratic impulsivity is a very difficult thing to deal with.
But after another month, it happened again, only with a friend. I lost the currency exchange money I'd been given. It's fucked up, what can I say? I had to go back to Russia to fix the problems somehow. I started to work, but because I went into remission again, I started fucking around again. I sold my own brother's computer. The very person who helped me more than anyone else in this world, who believed in me and supported me to the last. Because of the war, he flew to Israel with his wife and child. He didn't expect such a stab in the back from me. I have long since gotten used to the fact that my mistakes sooner or later wear out those who try to help me. Yes, of course, the way to success is through mistakes. But I'm not ready to keep ruining people's lives for the sake of an imaginary success sometime far in the future.
After this situation, I moved to the outskirts of Russia to my own father and his wife. An unknown town, everything from scratch. Just what I wanted.
And now it's been a year since I've lived here. During this year I managed: for the first time to feel independent success, financial independence (without disruptions to gambling), move in with a new girl, six months to live together in happiness and tranquility.
And then destroy everything by selling my personal belongings (pc) to the owner of the rented apartment. I was disappointed to see such a failure after such a long remission and success. I overreacted while drunk, and inflicted minor cuts on my arms, chest, and face (never touch your face guys, it's not worth it). After that I drank a bunch of pills that a "bullshit private psychiatrist" prescribed me, namely antidepressants and atarax. In the morning my girlfriend called me an ambulance and I was taken to a psychiatric hospital.
And this time it was the best experience in the hospital, as there was a great doctor there who fully diagnosed me and helped me understand how gaming addiction works and that it stems directly from BPD (interesting).
The girlfriend and I broke up, it's been 6 months now. I went to the hospital on my own to isolate myself for a month. I've been working two jobs steadily for the last 5 months, drinking beer and realizing every day that all I have left is to fix old mistakes. But I don't expect to move on, because for 4.5 years of mistakes and attempts to move on - the result is minimal, and the damage is maximum. Next mistakes are not worth it. Why should i move then?
I can't fully understand whether I want CTB right now or not..... Maybe I will do it when I realize that a new wave of terrible mistakes is on the way, I don't know..... Like... Why even torture myself when I already know everything? Why would I want to go to a dead end?
I am comfortable in emotional isolation, for example, in loneliness, but sometimes the total is not enough to satisfy. Over the past 5 years, it seems that so much has changed, but in fact, progress has remained in place, and the list of victims of my mistakes is only replenished and replenished. What's the point in that?
I'd be happy to elaborate on recent events, but I'm insanely tired of writing all of this. Thanks for your attention everyone, I hope this was of interest to someone.
For the next six months I worked for my brother in the field of motion design. At the same time, I worked with the psychologist on gaming addiction and on PID (officially it was not a diagnosis, but only a professional opinion of my psychologist). We worked with DBT therapy.
It was fucking amazing. For six months I got answers to all the questions that had been coming up for the past 2.5 years. I worked on the issues, but it takes long term work to get results.
Six months later the war with Ukraine started (my condolences to everyone who lost loved ones in that war). I fled from Russia with my friends and girlfriend to Armenia, as I was fit for military service and at that time I had faith in my life. I ended up living in a foreign country for 3 months and got a part-time job as a barista. I ended up stealing money from my girlfriend. Fucked up, huh? But we worked it out, we talked about it. Gambling addiction combined with erratic impulsivity is a very difficult thing to deal with.
But after another month, it happened again, only with a friend. I lost the currency exchange money I'd been given. It's fucked up, what can I say? I had to go back to Russia to fix the problems somehow. I started to work, but because I went into remission again, I started fucking around again. I sold my own brother's computer. The very person who helped me more than anyone else in this world, who believed in me and supported me to the last. Because of the war, he flew to Israel with his wife and child. He didn't expect such a stab in the back from me. I have long since gotten used to the fact that my mistakes sooner or later wear out those who try to help me. Yes, of course, the way to success is through mistakes. But I'm not ready to keep ruining people's lives for the sake of an imaginary success sometime far in the future.
After this situation, I moved to the outskirts of Russia to my own father and his wife. An unknown town, everything from scratch. Just what I wanted.
And now it's been a year since I've lived here. During this year I managed: for the first time to feel independent success, financial independence (without disruptions to gambling), move in with a new girl, six months to live together in happiness and tranquility.
And then destroy everything by selling my personal belongings (pc) to the owner of the rented apartment. I was disappointed to see such a failure after such a long remission and success. I overreacted while drunk, and inflicted minor cuts on my arms, chest, and face (never touch your face guys, it's not worth it). After that I drank a bunch of pills that a "bullshit private psychiatrist" prescribed me, namely antidepressants and atarax. In the morning my girlfriend called me an ambulance and I was taken to a psychiatric hospital.
And this time it was the best experience in the hospital, as there was a great doctor there who fully diagnosed me and helped me understand how gaming addiction works and that it stems directly from BPD (interesting).
The girlfriend and I broke up, it's been 6 months now. I went to the hospital on my own to isolate myself for a month. I've been working two jobs steadily for the last 5 months, drinking beer and realizing every day that all I have left is to fix old mistakes. But I don't expect to move on, because for 4.5 years of mistakes and attempts to move on - the result is minimal, and the damage is maximum. Next mistakes are not worth it. Why should i move then?
I can't fully understand whether I want CTB right now or not..... Maybe I will do it when I realize that a new wave of terrible mistakes is on the way, I don't know..... Like... Why even torture myself when I already know everything? Why would I want to go to a dead end?
I am comfortable in emotional isolation, for example, in loneliness, but sometimes the total is not enough to satisfy. Over the past 5 years, it seems that so much has changed, but in fact, progress has remained in place, and the list of victims of my mistakes is only replenished and replenished. What's the point in that?
I'd be happy to elaborate on recent events, but I'm insanely tired of writing all of this. Thanks for your attention everyone, I hope this was of interest to someone.
You can ask me about anything you want.
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