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Dave94

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  1. Personally, I think that there is a problem when the counseling of friends/loved ones goes past understanding and becomes ignorance and selfishness. "But I'll miss you, your family will miss you, etc" they say. It all sounds like they're the selfish ones to me. Let's leave out the aspect of having kids or people who rely on you for this discussion. Assume you are an independent adult with an average social life. What are your thoughts on this? Is suicide really selfish?
  2. Thanks for listening and understanding, cjay and roostinghens. It helps a lot. To answer your question, roostinghens, I have a job interview tomorrow morning, and judging by the phone call to the gentleman running the operation, I'm almost definitely going to get it. An HVAC apprenticeship, to be precise. Other than that, in the last few days my drummer and guitarist have sorted out their differences, and my band was just booked for a few more shows before the end of this year. I've been writing some new material as a means of helping myself come to terms with life, and will be playing it at said shows. I just had a nice night out with some old friends as well. Still, though, I'm more exhausted by these happenings than I am invigorated. I wake up with a sinking feeling that I can't shake the entire day, and I don't have energy to do anything. I talked to my parents too about going to the doctor again as well, though I am weary because I haven't had much luck with medication before. I just felt like a zombie and gained a hundred pounds. Hoping for the best though. Once again, thanks a lot for the support. :) ~D
  3. Hi guys. My name is Dave, I'm 20 years old and from Chicago. Background: I was bullied my whole life, and I've had countless friends abandon me because they were bullied for hanging out with me. When I was thirteen, I played tuba in the school marching band. I don't remember exactly how it happened but I eventually just stopped showing up to rehearsal, I was always really down and tired and nothing really interested me too much. Eventually I ended up confiding in the band director, where we concluded I was depressed. I went to see a doctor and was sent to stay inpatient in a local ward. My time in the ward was rewarding, no pun intended. I had an opportunity to better understand what was wrong with me, and it gave me a sense of hope. I was put on medication for tourette's, depression, adhd, and anxiety. Life was fine for a little while. Fast forward, senior year of high school. Seventeen years old this time. Every day that went by, I felt my sanity slipping. I was always hearing this or that and seeing flashes of light where there weren't any. Often, my body would twitch and then shake softly without my instruction. I had lost all of my friends, and I was only acknowledged out of obligation or sympathy. I began cutting my wrists. It would often follow conflict, but over time grew to be a habit of it's own. I still have a scar that spells "help". No one helped. The school contacted my mother, and my mother drove me to the hospital. She was furious with me the entire ride, she kept screaming at me and saying I just wanted attention and I don't know what real pain is. I genuinely wanted to throw myself out the door, but she was driving too slowly and it wouldn't get any results. In the ward, I found out I was psychotic and had schizo-affective disorder. This time around in the ward though, it was a lot darker. I had one of the worst psychotic break of my life the first night in there, experiencing very vivid hallucinations of life and death. I was convinced I was going to die that night. A couple days later I broke down and laid face down on my bed. This psychotic break was even scarier than the last one. I lost all sense of my body, I was surrounded by static, like on a tv screen, tinted dark green. I could hear rushing water and sirens, as well as faint screams. A face appeared, a woman, no more than perhaps twenty five. She was as pale as a ghost, her hair drenched in water and gross stuff. Her eyes were completely black. I heard her yell "Help me please, get me out" before I snapped back to reality. To this day I still wonder what that all meant. Christmas time was coming, and I was still locked up. I wanted to be out so I could see my family at Christmas dinner. I eventually stopped telling the doctors about the bad episodes and making it seem that everything was going fine. I made it out. I was sent to do the rest of my schooling at a remedial institute about 10 miles away from my high school. It was one of those online-work-at-your-own-pace sort of deals. I ended up being a super-senior for a couple weeks. I decided to major in psychology at the community college. I started in january, and by march I'd discovered sleeping pills. This is where it gets ugly. For six months, the only thing I would do was leave the house for more pills. The only reason I would get out of bed was to change into new clothes and move my school bag so my mother wouldn't know I was skipping school to get high all day. I was taking as many as 20 at a time, the feeling of numbness and disassociation was what I'd sought for so long. I nearly killed myself twice on these, once by accident and once on purpose. Fast forward to march of this year. I decided to try playing guitar again. I went down to the local music shop and bought some new strings, and the guy there (they have all known me since i was a little kid) invited me to this open jam night at some bar. I went, and ended up meeting my new bandmate, Andy. Andy was with this kid James, and holy crap could James play the drums. It was amazing, I was lead singer and bassist of our new three piece. Eventually we got a bassist so I could move back to guitar. We played shows all over this side of the state. I found a new social circle through my best friend since childhood, Corwin. Through this circle I found my first actually serious relationship with a girl. I actually fit in for once and had a good time. I got a well paying, full time job in construction that I loved. It felt like it was too good to be true. It was. My friend, Peter, had once dated my girlfriend. And we were all in the same little circle. Eventually Peter found a girlfriend in the circle, too, which led to me finding out that my girlfriend still had feeling for him. We broke up. Shortly after this, I was fired from my job because I cut my hand open and my employer was paranoid about lawsuits. It's construction, come on. People get cut. My drummer stepped down from the band because of some internal conflict between him and Andy. The circle's demeanor quickly became that of a bunch of fourteen year olds, only concerned with partying and getting screwed up all the time. I was only involved if I was being DD or something. Corwin and I stepped out of the circle. A little while has passed and I can't seem to shake the depression. Every moment of my life is just so exhausting, every time someone speaks to me it's like a nuclear bomb going off next to my head. When I go outside, the sky seems gray and dull. I rarely have enough energy to do anything im interested in, and when i do i lose interest right away. I don't know what to do. I'm not even sure why I'm typing all of this, even. Nothing seems to help. Any thoughts are appreciated. ~D
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