YOU ARE NOT ALONE - A companion online community discussion board for The Mental Illness Happy Hour podcast with Paul Gilmartin

My friend blocked me on Facebook.

He blocked me because he baselessly accused me of having an opinion which I do not have on a FUCKING MEME I reposted.

It had to do with Ferguson. "White people riot over: sports games, surfing competitions, etc." He accused me of being racist against white people.

I'M FUCKING WHITE. WHAT THE FUCK.

I fucking went off on him because this pompous ASSHOLE has always been like "PEOPLE ARE SO MEAN TO ME WHEN I TRY TO DISCUSS RACE BECAUSE I'M WHITE."

World's tiniest fucking violin for you.

I was fucking PISSED and blew up at him ON MY OWN FUCKING POST, THANKS, THAT HE *CHOSE* TO POST ON, because Ferguson fucking affects me personally. This isn't just social justice warrior shit; my family has people of color in it. Ferguson fucking pisses me off and that meme was meant to show how media coverage portrays riots, not that white people are dumber than any other race or ethnicity. For fuck's sake.

And he blocks me. We've been friends since high school.

The asshole said he'd maybe drop by for my birthday and didn't so you know what? Fuck him, he's always been so fucking high and mighty. He thinks life owes him something--always complaining about people going off on him when he acts like a fucking BITCH, and by bitch I mean FUCKING MEAN AND NASTY, in the guise of being oh so smart and objective. Fucking bullshit.'

For the record, I HATE FACEBOOK. The only reason I still use it is because I like keeping up with my friends and I'm a fucking introvert and don't go out. Sometimes I make friends there.

I've been so fucking pissed for days, it feels like.

I'm fucking sick of school.

I'm fucking sick of people. I don't HATE them I'm just SICK OF BULLSHIT.

And you know what fucking sucks?

I haven't seen my talk therapist for months. My mom said we wouldn't have the money for it with school. When I really fucking needed him most I didn't have him.

I have a psychiatrist. I see him once a month for half hour sessions. He's done a splendid job with my medication until I started school, and all this stress, being around people, fucked up shit happening in my life has once again left me depressed.

So I've started self-medicating. I'm drinking nightly, sometimes daily.

THAT is what fucking sucks. I know my boozing is making the depression worse. I know my boozing is what's making me more angry.

I'm lucky it doesn't fuck with my meds TOO much... but specifically my psychiatrist said "two cups of wine, (Sherlock)."

I've been having more of that because when you give me an inch I guess I take the mile.

I just want to crawl up into a little ball today and block everything out. I haven't had suicidal thoughts lately until recently--the passive ones. "I want to get sick and die." "I wish I were dead right now."

NOTHING FUCKING MAKES ME HAPPY. I don't fucking care what grade I get on my assignments. I don't want to watch new movies. I don't want to play videogames--except very rarely, and then I get frustrated and quit.

At most I've been watching a lot of morbid/horror stuff. It's all I can really handle. Then sometimes some comedy but that's only when my friend(s) come over.

I have no idea how to get this thing out of me. There is a thing inside me that deadens me; it survives on sadness and anxiety and anger because when I'm not feeling any of those things, I feel fucking empty. I feel like a zombie going through the motions.

I'm exhausted just from writing all of that. I have no idea what else to do now. I really don't.

You know what? I keep trying to write about my psychotic episode. Then I have to stop. It hurts recounting it... it's all so creative and inspired and dramatic, so sci-fi and so fantasy and morbid and fascinating, but it was traumatic. I want SO BADLY to recount what happened to me but it still hurts so much and I don't know why.

I'm afraid of being happy because it was a manic psychotic episode. I was bouncing off the walls. I think sometimes I don't want to do things that make me truly happy because I'm so scared of that mania and the destructiveness of it.

I envision a better future for myself... and feel delusional. It's all grandeur, impossible things. Immature. That keeps me alive most days.

I think I should try and retreat there, as much as I can. It's been my escape since childhood...

I don't want to let myself down. I feel like I'm letting myself down constantly these days, even though I know it's something like a sickness. That I am being neglected. That I need to move out as soon as possible... even though everyone pushes me to get a degree just so I can have that stupid piece of paper, which would keep me at home longer.

I'm going to try and retreat into the fantasies now. Hope it works.

GREAT STEP DAD PLAY FUCKING CHRISTMAS MACARENA UNTIL MY EARS FUCKING EXPLODE.

Context: my step dad has blasted music my whole life and he's never had any regard for anyone else in the house when he does it.

SOMETIMES he does it when my mom is out or we aren't home or whatever. Most of the time, NOPE!

Sometimes it's okay. He has good taste in music. I like some of the stuff he plays.

Sometimes it's so counter to my current feelings that it's as fucking obnoxious as the Christmas Macarena.

I think eventually, when I make solid connections with the people I care about enough to just call them up on the phone, I'm probably going to quit facebook.

Shit ain't worth a damn thing.

I reposted a very fascinating article on trauma being passed down; it was relevant to me because my mom had been molested as a kid, and I know I've had anxiety and some sexual dysfunctions(?) since I was a kid.

She posts on it, because one of the worst things on facebook is having relatives on there. People who fucking live in your house.

She posts, "I'd like this, but I think it's time to move on..."

Okay, so she saw through me.

Does she feel guilty? It's not her fucking fault that she got molested, that she also got raped, that she also was abused by my father before I was born.

But "It's time to move on"? ME?

Asking me to move on from new information, ANY kind of revelation, about mental illness, is like telling me to stop thinking. Stop breathing. Stop remembering.

"Moving on" won't do shit. It means crushing my feelings and thoughts inside rather than releasing them.

I'm not sure I told her yet that no matter what I become as a future career, I WILL be a mental health advocate. I want better answers, better understanding, empathy, sympathy. and everything else. Stigma hurts me; shit like "it's time to move on" IS stigma and she doesn't even realize it because she's centered on herself.

Fucking blaming herself.

I wish I could be more angry with her--I am, but it's just so FUCKED UP that she thinks she doesn't need to talk to anybody. She's finally on some sleep medication "which helps" but SERIOUSLY.

It's the same with everyone in this mentally ill household: I don't need to talk to anybody (professionally).

Cuz you know, it's not like they've ever been diagnosed with anything. It's not like they've never experienced trauma. It's not as though they've never done stupid, impulsive, wreckless things--it's not as though everyone in this house is addicted to some substance or another.

My psychiatrist tells me to be an example.

My step dad said to me, "You're doing much better after medication." I don't think anyone realizes that I wouldn't be on medication if I didn't talk to a therapist. I was so addled and confused I didn't realize I had a physical problem; I had to untangle the tangible, environmental, past-history stuff to come to that conclusion.

And you know what? Yes, therapy is fucking expensive. But they are a stranger to you; they keep things private. If you find a good one, they'll say things that make sense and make you feel valued.

YES, IT IS THEIR JOB TO MAKE YOU FEEL GOOD, BECAUSE YOU FEEL FUCKING BAD FOR NO GOOD REASON!

The good therapists have the vocabulary and language to do this in a way that makes SENSE. It doesn't just feel like mindless compliments--they assess everything you say and pinpoint something, and make you reevaluate how you view yourself and what you've experienced. It feels like a real conversation and not like you simply dumping--you're evaluating yourself with a coach, you're venting what you really feel without need for a filter.

Maybe... it's because... I never did anything that was really harmful. I know I've made some bad decisions... but most of it was done when I was manic/psychotic.

My mom neglected me and my sibling's education. My step dad is distant with his step and biological children and grandchildren, and stingy with his inherited money. My brother used to beat me up when he was a kid.

These are things that directly affected other human beings. I mean, I could make a similar list for myself... I don't help the household with chores enough. I drink every night and my brother hates it. My room is a mess and my step dad probably can't walk in here without his OCD being triggered.

No matter the weight--all of those actions result in guilt.

Try to move on from guilt.

My internet and browser are acting WACKTACULAR. I wasn't finished.

The problem with mental illness is that it's a prison. It's not as easy as brushing something off or making the right decisions... because if you carry around guilt, then you don't think you even deserve to make your life better. You don't think you are humanly capable of maintaining your own health and sense of balance--the task seems impossible.

A therapist does different things but if it's non-specific, at the very least, you can shed some weight off you. I let go of the guilt that my mom would have to pay for me to see a psychiatrist... and then got a health plan that covers my medications, so it's not so bad. Things can work out.

I have a lot to work on with myself, and it's not because I hate myself... oh, sure, there are days I certainly do hate myself, or wish I could be different, or realize that I don't value myself as much as I think I do. But I am SO, SO much better after seeing multiple health professionals who see me.

Truly see me.

Speaking as someone who has experienced mania which involved a lot of euphoria--I don't care how ugly you think you are, how stupid, how awkward, how boring, whatever negative thing is in your head: you are valuable. You are interesting because you are a human with a complex brain and a life history.

Since I'm going through this angry phase today I really had this thought today, "Some people are just so boring." It was because this guy in class, who's super nice and cool and we have some things in common, couldn't tell when to stop talking. There are non-verbal cues for when someone has either stopped listening to you or is bored/fatigued by your rambling--and he'd keep going on.

But you know what? Besides being a nice, smart guy, I'm jealous that he has a zeal for things, that he likes to retell things he's seen in movies or TV shows (even if it is stilted and I'm not always sure where he's going with it--at least one of the times I did get it, at least). I WISH I could be as interested in TV shows, but then again, it's an art class we're both in, and he was really struggling to create an original piece for our project. He thought too big; his mind was filled with media. It seemed like he couldn't think outside of the box.

So while I value him for who he is--very unique, smart, interesting, friendly--I value myself for being as considerate as humanly possible considering my OWN social hiccups (really, am I one to judge?) and for the fact that I'm not uninspired (currently--hopefully there won't be hiccups in the future).

This picked me up a bit. Water of a duck's back... but no. Hold on. There are lyrics to my favorite band you've never heard of (no, not a hipster band, a local one):

I'll stay a threat
Stay a raised fist offender
My rebel soul
Will never surrender

That's how I feel about the "move on" comment, basically--but pretty out of context for what the song is about, jsyk.

Ugh.

I made a post about my menstruation. Took some Tylenol cuz my mom isn't here to give me here GIANT ibuprofen prescription pills (probably not a good idea but honestly? she's been doing that since I was a kid--they were muscle relaxers for SOMETHING, maybe trying to sleep?) and red on the box: "Don't take with more than three cups of alcohol" (something like that).

Wellllll.... hm, then. It also mentioned some random ass chemical that I have NO IDEA if it's in my medications or not.

I started my period pretty much during my final in nutrition class--a class I had been totally neglecting because I could, and because it was so dark it made me angry at the fucking world. I thanked my teacher for what she taught me and HOPEFULLY passed with a C but I could've done much better if all this shit hadn't happened to me this semester.

My mom is in the South because that's where my sister lives and my sister is pregnant and having contractions. I almost wish I could be there but I also miss my mom--I actually hoped my sister would start giving birth sooner than the doctors' expected due date just so my mom could be home sooner. It's not so much dependency as like... getting things on an even keel again. It hasn't been horrible with just my step dad and brother--I don't mind doing extra chores. I guess I do miss her in a way. I don't know.

It just sucks that I have this ONE, LAST THING to do for Figure Drawing and thanks to my shitty body I am FATIGUED. I'm SICK. And because it makes me feel bad now I'm drunk.

I'll get this project done. It probably won't turn out great but I'll get a grade for it. I'm not exactly worried or anxious about school--I just want it to be fucking over so I can reassess my whole fucking life for a month. And see my sister's baby over break.

AUGH, again. Just because I have to go to the class I liked least for one final time tomorrow. Show paintings that are either incomplete or that I hate.

Trust your instincts with your classes, anyone who is reading who is still in high school... if you get bad vibes from a class, DROP IT. I don't care if you spent money on it. You don't want to waste your time, mental and emotional faculties, and GPA on a class that you hate taking.

Figure is a whole other story; I love that class. It's been difficult but I love figure drawing, which is why I know I will complete this project, even if it's not by any means by best work. Just the best I can do right now.

Giant fucking sigh.

Finals are over.

It says a lot that I feel no relief or joy over this.

I drink nightly. I'm chain smoking.

That says a lot.

I am surrounded by people in pain. Who offer their ear. Their perspective.

It says a lot that none of it helps.

It says a lot that in order to get help that I actually need, I need money.

It says a lot when I get upset over disappointment over a movie, everyone doesn't realize I'm fucking fucked up. It's not about the fucking movie. It's about not finding fucking joy in anything.

When depression hits you first it's just sadness. You're so sad, you become numb. You're so numb you try and try to get back to feeling again--but only the negative feelings feed the depression. Only the bad things. Anger, anxiety, sadness--those are the only feelings you're allowed.

Of course I'm fucking upset I didn't enjoy a movie. I wanted to fucking enjoy a movie everyone else in the world seemed to. I want to fucking enjoy what my friends enjoy and I can't.

I feel so fucking alone. I'm talking and nobody is listening because it's all filtered through their own bullshit. I have to pay someone to actually understand me.

And everyone keeps telling me I seem so much better. I'm fucking not.

It occurred to me, when you're a kid, you don't know what you need. You know what you want but you don't know what you need. When you grow up in an environment that neglects your needs, you grow up an adult that realizes oh wow, I have no idea how to get what I need.

Some solace. Some distraction. Something in the brain that triggers when you rant and you feel better and you can move on. Something that triggers in the brain that when you've done well or got through something, that it's a good thing. Something in the brain that triggers when you want to talk to someone then talk to someone--but that part of my brain is saying, "What the fuck are they going to say that they haven't before? You know other people have problems, don't you?"

Is this fucking life? Is life stuffing down all these feelings I have because they're fucking explosive? Being or feeling fucking ignored or my feelings tossed to the side cuz everyone's just so fucking selfish, just like I am?

I AM DRINKING NIGHTLY. I CAN'T SEE MY THERAPIST OR PSYCHIATRIST. HELLO, FUCKHEADS, I AM IN PAIN. I HAVE TO HIDE IT SO **YOU** FEEL FUCKING OKAY. I HAVE TO HIDE IN GENERAL SO **YOU** FEEL FUCKING OKAY, SO I DON'T HAVE TO BURDEN YOU, BECAUSE **YOU** ARE IN PAIN, AND YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW THE FUCK TO TAKE CARE OF ME IF YOU AREIN PAIN.

Oh they told me "call me any time talk to me any time I'll listen." I get fucking numbness from them. They are numb. They are going through the same shit in a whole different perspective and thought range but they are NOT fucking qualified to really help.

Is this feeling suicidal? Like I am just so worthless? All I am is a burden. If people aren't listening to me now, they never will.

I want to tell myself: just hold on to the dream. It doesn't have to come into fruition as you imagine it, but hold onto it. That's the only way you can make it being alone.

But how the fuck do I connect to others? That seems so important and I feel like there's just this wall--like I'm this black darkness that's going to trickle into everyone else's lives.

I guess I'll get specific BECAUSE I WASN'T FUCKING LISTENED TO. I WAS EXCUSED. I WAS "REASONED" WITH. I WAS GIVEN "WELL THAT'S YOUR OPINION"--THAT'S NOT THE FUCKING POINT.

I finally saw Desolation of Smaug. I loved the first half.

Then they introduce this elf chick. Okay. I expected that.

Then things get stretched. and stretched. and stretched.

And it fucking feels like six hours. Just watching something that has lost all of its tension cuz I READ THE FUCKING BOOK I KNOW WHAT HAPPENS. STOP STRETCHING SHIT WHEN I KNOW GANDALF LIVES. WHEN FUCKING LEGOLAS--WHAT THE FUCK IS HE EVEN **DOING** HERE? WHAT IS THEPOINT OF THIS WHOLE FUCKING ELF SHIT?

And I know it all comes down to this: I feel so emotionally stifled I can't create what *I* want to create. I start HATING things for just missing the mark for me because I am SO emotionally unsatisfied... and it's worse when people around me are RAVING about it.

I don't want to live in this fucking sadness, apathy, FUCK YOU mentality. It's where I'm at right now cuz shit is just fucking shitty right now. I want some good--some connections. Good honest conversations while my brother fucking PUSHES IT TO THE SIDE OH BECAUSE TAHT'S TOO NEGATIVE LIKE HE DOESN'T LIVE IN NEGATIVITY, TOO.

I feel like a baby--or a child. I am dependent. I don't want to be. I'm dependent on one thing or the other and get confused easily and I just don't want to be that but that's where I am right now, and I am in a tantrum where I hate everything.

Because I wanted to fucking enjoy a movie that was so HYPED for me and I didn't. I just fucking didn't. I was fucking pissed off I had to sit through that--and I finally realized, I just have to sit through a LOT of shit that I'm told is great and actually isn't. Just fucking isn't.

FUCKING FOE ME, JIMMY.

I foed you because FUCK YOU.

You do not get what it's like to be a woman. You go do not get what it's like to be queer. You do not get what it's like to be gender-confused.

FUCK. OFF.

I am SO TIRED of the "politically correct" rhetoric used against people who WANT TO BE FUCKING INCLUSIVE IN THEIR LANGUAGE AND ACTIONS.

Politically correct? You'd rather have people oppressed, made fun of, dehumanized, objectified, feel less than, have their self-esteem destroyed, have their whole existence ignored THAN CHANGE YOUR FUCKING LANGUAGE?! Your ACTIONS?

SELFISH. YOU ARE SELFISH. I AM SELFISH, I AM SELF-AGGRANDIZING, YES. But I fucking TRY. At least I fucking try. I fucking learn and grow, I go to places where I can learn and grow. I want to be a better fucking person.

I don't feel victimized: read my signature, because it says what I feel when it comes to issues like this. It brings me down but then I remember these lyrics. NO. I AM NOT CHANGING HOW I FUCKING TALK JUST TO AVOID BEING CALLED "PC" LIKE IT'S SOMETHING BAD, LIKE IT'S OPPRESSING YOU, LIKE IT'S NOT UNTANGLING OPPRESSION ITSELF.

I can't even. Yes, this this a forum full of people with mental illnesses: what else should I expect but some hostility from mentally ill users once in a while? Especially assholes who'd like to single out people publicly, at that?

But fucking A. My mental illness taught me a lot about compassion and humanity. Fucking learn from your struggles instead of being a fucking asswipe about it to people YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW.

This is just fucking hysterical. It's hurtful, but I have to laugh at it because otherwise it'd be too much.

My mom is across the country in another state because my sister is pregnant and she's supporting her by being there for the birth. Very hard during the holiday season as you can imagine--my sister is already past her due date and my mom got sick with a sinus infection, preventing her from flying back for Christmas. So we're not having Christmas with mom this year... which I'm bummed about about but okay with as long as she's there for the birth of my nephew, really.

My mom texts me today, "Why is (my brother) so down??" So I go in and ask him why he's so down. Mind you, months before, my brother had to be 51/50'd for a suicidal attempt, and found out he's depressive psychosis, which means he hears voices when he gets REALLY depressed, which were often violent ideations. A fuckload to deal with, pretty much.

He tells me my dad's new girlfriend.... well, okay. My dad wanted HIM to write a letter of apology for this new girlfriend... for some reason my brother can't fathom.

This new girlfriend showed up out of nowhere in the middle of the year, out of the blue, without warning. She clings onto us, ingratiating to us.

Then this new girlfriend gets her third DUI, gets put in jail for 40 days and now is on house arrest--this, by the way, is not told to me. I don't know which of my siblings got the news first but none of us were fully aware of all of this.

And my dad wants my recoverying-from-fucking-psychotic-depression brother to apologize to her. For not... being welcoming enough?

She's defriended me and my sister on Facebook. This woman is fucked up. I feel bad for her. But she's literally getting a breatholizer test in the house--they're forcing her to become sober, pretty much... and my dad is listening to her random fucked up needs, her random fucked up pointing the fingers at instead of going "okay, this gal is going through a lot of shit--I don't need to bring my children into this."

INstead he thinks "oh yeah (my brother) did something bad and needs to write a letter of apology to her."

FOR WHAT!? FOR FUCKING **NOTHING.**

We're all adults. Two of us are recovering from mental health issues and the third is several states away. WHAT. THE FUCK. DO YOU EXPECT FROM US?!

What makes it hilarious is because when my brother was in the mental hospital, my dad totally blew up at my mom and step dad, blaming them for everything, and accusing my step dad of wanting to throw my brother out of the house. Ignorantly I try to be the mediator in this fucked up argument and tell my dad, "You know my step dad was just asking for you to house him if the 51/50 is up and he doesn't have anything to help--he's feeling violent toward everyone in the house and toward himself. He was just asking for help." My dad says NO, my step dad was kicking my brother out, my mom is choosing my step dad over us, and my brother isn't a violent person... all in the space of a day where we all three get phone calls about the violent thoughts my brother has had about ALL OF US in the house. RIIIIIGHT.

So that's the comedy of it. My fucked up mom and step dad knew in the situation with my brother, it was ABOUT MY BROTHER. Making sure he's healthy and safe. My dad in turn thinks it's all their fault and they're kicking my brother out--which, no, they weren't, they were asking for help from my dad.

AND NOW, HAHA. My dad is TOTALLY choosing his BRAND NEW GIRLFRIEND (my step dad and mom have been together for 20+ years raising us--compare that to HALF A FUCKING YEAR) over my brother's FEELINGS.

It's so weird. It's so utterly myopic of him it's laughable. My brother told me he asked my dad to stop haranguing him about jobs; my dad conveniently has forgotten that request and still asks about jobs. Just like all my experiences where my dad is so like... selfish, myopic, he doesn't see ME, he doesn't see the context of my brother or my situation at fucking all.

It just feels so weird to know you're related to someone like this. He's out of this world--or in his own little world where he makes up his own realities. Where his son has rejected his brand new girlfriend, ignoring that my brother has Been Through Shit this year while his girlfriend crashed his car and did some fucked up shit for his life. Like seriously. What the fuck?

Oh, god. I hope this doesn't become a habit. My thumb hurts from a burn.

I bought a shitload of candles for a protest about Ferguson; some of them were not used. I was regretting the moment I would bring them into the house... because during the protest, the hot wax fell on me. And I realized: the pain is quick, and I can peel the wax off of me.

I brought the candles in today and used at leas three to pour wax on my stomach, arms, and legs; I've realized now that legs and arms are best, cuz my legs still hurt. Though putting it on my hip wasn't so bad. My thumb hurts because of lighting the candles--I let fire get too close to my hand.

I hate how much I loved it. When I let the wax cool, it was like seeing illness on my body--like I was covered in disease that I could scratch away.

This thumb is just REALLY bugging me now. I know this is a bad thing to do based on the fact that this is self-harming--the only reason I can do it is because the pain is so quick. It'd be horrible if I burned myself badly or let a fire burn without control, after all.