Posts by crimsonharbor72

I suppose I’ll give it a shot; I truly have nothing left to lose. Part of me resists, though—perhaps because I’m treating this as my absolute last lifeline. There’s this nagging fear, isn't there? If I make the leap and things don't pan out, if it doesn't actually solve anything... where does that leave me?
And regardless of how many times they’ve turned me away because of what happened previously—that one unfortunate incident—it seems I am left without a second, third, or even fourth option, other than this one.

I honestly don't see what he could possibly say to convince me that some kind of "treatment" is going to fix my life.
What angle is he even supposed to take to shift my entire perspective? He can't lean on fate, and he certainly can't use God as an argument, because I simply don't believe in either. So, what's left for him to explain? How am I supposed to just accept that things "had to happen this way" and move on?
Let me be clear: since I don't believe in a higher power, I don't buy the idea that someone up there decided I needed to endure a continuous string of misfortunes just to test my faith. And since I don't believe in destiny, I don't accept the notion that my path was preordained and unavoidable. In what sense could he possibly enlighten me?

Edit: Just to clarify, I’m not starting a new thread.
Being out in public is difficult for me because I struggle with intense jealousy when I look at people and realize they possess everything I once had and lost so undeservedly. It isn't just about what they have, though—it's also seeing people who are far less considerate than I am, or far less willing to lend a hand to others.

To be perfectly clear, I have NEVER been jealous of someone's bank account, their looks, or their career success. But I find it incredibly hard to be around people who have all of that *and* a stable home life—living with parents, siblings, and extended family—while I, at such a young age, have already lost half of them and so much more.

I suppose that's why reintegrating into society feels so heavy... I just can't stomach the fact that others have a complete, functioning family, while I don't. That doesn't mean I wish them ill—I truly don't want anything bad to happen to anyone—but I cannot reconcile the reality that so many people close to me were taken away, while others are still allowed to enjoy the presence of their loved ones.

Andrew Doyle said:crimsonharbor72, have you ever considered seeing a therapist?

No, though I have occasionally weighed the option. Honestly, though, I’m skeptical. A very close person to me took their own life due to a botched diagnosis and a series of systemic failures, so I find it difficult to trust that these professionals could actually offer much meaningful help.

Without intending to offend anyone, everyone holds their own perspective on psychologists and psychiatrists... but I can't shake the feeling that many of them are simply going through the motions. It often feels like they are just stating the obvious—repackaging common sense as profound insight—while subtly using manipulative techniques to convince people why they should move forward. I get the impression that perhaps only those who aren't particularly sharp fall for these little psychological sales pitches. Even when I'm venting about my own mess, they start offering these polished "positive perspectives" because, well, they were trained to do exactly that. It feels less like genuine empathy and more like a calculated attempt to motivate me, which usually just ends up infuriating me. I have a certain aversion to the whole profession; even if I am forced to go because there's no other choice, I'll likely just end up walking out after telling them exactly what I think of them.

I don't want anyone to think I'm being hyperbolic here. When I talk about these struggles, I’m not trying to lay out every agonizing detail, but rather the weight of it all—the illnesses I've personally endured, the sicknesses that have taken those I hold most dear, and the relentless cycle of loss and suffering involving people who mean everything to me. It just feels like one endless loop.
And honestly, why can't I ever seem to find my footing? Is it too much to ask for the universe to grant me just one single year of peace? One year where I’m not constantly navigating a tragedy every few months, or worse, fighting through two or three overlapping crises at once.

Thomas Roberts3 said:Running away from your fears and problems isn't a recipe for happiness, and it definitely isn't a solution to them.

It’s easy enough to type that when you aren't the one standing in the middle of the storm.
I think I would have offered that same advice to others before I found myself facing these exact circumstances.
If I didn't pull away from people, I honestly feel like I might snap—literally—and end up in a psychiatric ward, which isn't exactly where I want to be. But if I actually want to move forward with my life—meaning finishing my degree at NYU, for instance—and eventually reach a point where I am "normal" by today's standards, I have to interact with society. So, in a way, I find myself caught in this internal contradiction.

However, claiming that running from fears and problems is a poor recipe for happiness feels a bit trivial to me, simply because I’m certainly not doing it intentionally. For a long time, I managed to push through the darkness; my friends (who know exactly what I've been dealing with) have always admired how much I could endure while keeping my head straight. But after everything that has happened over the last few months, I’ve reached my limit. I’ve lost faith in life itself—lost that sense that good things will ever happen to me, because I lack any foundation to believe otherwise.

It isn't that I believe life is fundamentally bad; it's just that *my* life feels devastating right now. And I can't quite grasp why such awful things seem to target me specifically.
Just when I manage to climb over one hurdle so I can finally catch my breath and move on, another one appears—usually a much larger one. And it stays that way... constant, year after year.

Just to add one more thing.
Sometimes I get this nagging feeling that I’m just not ready to grow up. It’s almost a fear, really—the older I get, the more these heavy life situations seem to pile up on me.
The absolute best years of my life were when I was five or six, and honestly, if I could find a way to go back to those days, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

I think that’s why I resist being a full-fledged adult; there’s this deep longing for that time when everything at home was taken care of, and my only responsibility was simply being a kid.
It’s been difficult trying to process everything I’ve been through, especially when I look around and see people living lives that are so much better than mine. I haven't done anything to deserve this constant string of bad luck.

I truly dream of just moving far away from nearly everyone, finding a little house somewhere quiet, and living a peaceful life on my own terms. The more setbacks I face, the more I find myself withdrawing from people. They just feel exhausting, and if I’m being honest, I even feel a sense of envy toward some of them—not because of what they own, but because they have a kind of stability and fulfillment that I feel I'll never reach. At this point, I struggle to function in the modern world as we know it. This frantic, urban lifestyle feels suffocating, and it’s often what triggers my panic attacks.

Jonathan Hayes, that’s pretty much how I view socializing right now, given everything I'm dealing with. 🙂

I can't shake this nagging feeling that I'm someone destined to walk through a constant gauntlet of misfortune. And honestly? It feels like as I get older, the stakes just get higher and the blows hit harder. I'm not trying to be dramatic or exaggerate for effect; I am quite literally navigating a series of devastating setbacks right now.
It’s exhausting. People and their endless litany of "crises" are draining the life out of me.

Don't get me wrong—I realize that for someone who hasn't been truly tested by life, complaining about a broken fingernail might feel like a tragedy. But I find I simply don't have the bandwidth to listen to that, especially since the last few months have been such a relentless storm. To be honest, I'm almost impressed with myself for managing to stay even remotely composed.

When I'm on my own, I manage. Things move along. Not exactly great, but they move. I cry when the need arises, I chat with a friend on Facebook if I feel up to it, or I’ll invite one specific person over to my place when it suits my mood.

However, everyone is insisting that I head back to university. The thought of it is suffocating. Truly. That massive influx of people and all those sudden obligations... I fear it would only push my mental health further over the edge. Yet, I feel forced to go, even though I already know it won't work and will only serve to spike my anxiety.
I am genuinely tired of being around people. Most people I encounter nowadays seem perfectly kind and wonderful on the surface, yet they are the first to stab you in the back when things get real. There are certain words or tones used in social settings that make me freeze up entirely. I can't picture myself lost in a crowd, yet everyone else seems convinced that being social is the ultimate cure. They refuse to hear any other perspective.

I appreciate all the input here.

The real issue is that I’ll have to head back to campus soon. It means moving back into a city where I don't actually live just to sit through lectures. Honestly, the studying part isn't what worries me; I can handle books. It’s the idea of being squeezed into a crowded lecture hall that triggers this low-level anxiety. And if I end up in a situation where I have to stand up and give a presentation in front of a massive auditorium? I think I might genuinely collapse. I wasn't always like this, but things took a turn about a year ago. I spiraled into a pretty heavy depression for about six months. I managed to pull myself out of it—barely—with the help of one specific person (which is important context for what comes next). For half a year, things were finally peaceful. Then, tragedy struck. I lost a family member, and just a few weeks later, I was hit with intense panic attacks, involving that same person who helped me through the first wave.

It just leveled me. Since then, I’ve struggled to be around people or engage in what I consider mindless small talk. I have no desire to dump my problems onto others and be a burden, but at the same time, how am I supposed to care about someone screaming at you because they picked the wrong shade of hair dye when you can barely see the difference?

I talked to my dad about school, and he’s pushing me to go. His logic is that the worst-case scenario is that I just end up shutting myself in the house, isolating from everyone, and living in total solitude.
He doesn't quite grasp that isolation actually feels right to me. He’s my complete opposite; he thrives on being around people.

I’ve been trying to make an effort to socialize lately, but honestly? I just can’t. It’s becoming physically nauseating. Don’t get me wrong, the people I’m with are perfectly fine, and they’re genuinely sympathetic toward my situation, but I find myself completely repulsed by the triviality of their conversations. Is it really a crisis when someone complains about having a limited budget for designer shoes, yet they’re dying to buy a specific pair? They play the victim over such nonsense, and then—to top it all off—they actually have the audacity to ask for my advice on which pair to choose. In those moments, I feel like I might just snap.

Lately, I’ve even found myself feeling a bitter sense of envy toward my own friends. They possess this effortless luck in life, a sort of abundance they seem to take entirely for granted. I find it impossible to listen to. And how can I stomach hearing someone disrespect their mother, when I lost mine in such a devastating way?
Generally speaking, whenever I’m grabbing coffee with someone or visiting a friend, the sheer substance of their chatter gets under my skin. It’s infuriating. There are moments where a dark, intrusive thought crosses my mind—just imagining how much relief it would bring if I could simply silence them once and for all.

Now, don't misunderstand me; it isn't as if I spend my entire existence idling in bed or being lazy. I can be perfectly productive and handle whatever responsibilities come my way, provided I don't have to interact with anyone. And since avoiding human contact is nearly impossible, things get difficult. Most people are a nuisance to me, with the exception of perhaps two or three who truly resonate with my temperament. Engaging with everyone else feels like an exhausting chore. Keeping up a conversation is equally draining, especially when it veers into those tiresome emotional spirals—you know, the "how am I ever going to survive this?" or "my boyfriend left me, and he was such an arrogant jerk anyway" type of drama.

The dilemma is compounded by my deep-seated aversion to psychologists. I have my own very valid reasons for that, and besides, there is absolutely no chance I would ever feel comfortable opening up to a complete stranger.

I honestly don't know how to live or function like a "normal" person anymore. It isn't that I lack the desire to try; it’s simply that I find myself unable to...

Ever since I was about six or seven years old, I have been navigating one traumatic event after another—there was almost never a reprieve.
Until I was eleven, I was going through things that I didn't even realize at the time would leave such a lasting, negative mark on my psyche. By fifteen, I was struggling to fight my own battles alone, and that was when I truly began to sink. That was when the suicidal ideation started. Fortunately, I never acted on it; the furthest I ever went was scratching myself until I bled or hitting my head against a wall—or using my fists against my legs with everything I had—whenever I felt too "full," as if I desperately needed to purge that internal rage somewhere. During ages sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen, things grew darker, though there were fleeting moments of hope where I felt I might finally be turning a corner.
Then came my twentieth year. For once, I felt like I was finally finding my footing. I could actually say, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, that I was genuinely, truly happy. And then, everything collapsed because of a series of events that followed.
I won't dwell on the details here, as I have no desire to reopen that particular wound on a public forum, but I will simply say it involved death—the kind of loss involving circumstances that most people will never have to face in their entire lives.

After all of that, I just can't go on like this.
It isn't that I want to die; it's that I have no appetite for living. I have no drive to do anything, no urge to step outside or socialize. I would much rather remain in total isolation, which, if I'm being honest, feels like the best option right now. I have endured a lifetime's worth of hardships that most people couldn't imagine in their worst nightmares. I feel utterly depleted, exhausted, and I see no point in trying to "fix" myself when I am under the constant impression that something else catastrophic is just waiting around the corner. That seems to be the pattern of my life.

I don't think I fit the typical definition of depression, because I can still get out of bed, clean my apartment, and handle my responsibilities when they need doing—mostly because I actually value myself. But it's as if I've lost all affection for 99% of the population. I have zero interest in leaving my home, so why bother? I have no patience for small talk or listening to people complain about trivialities, like a mid-term exam at a state university, especially considering the scale of the things I have survived. To me, those aren't problems. I don't even want to run into acquaintances on the street and exchange pleasantries. I just want to exist without any human interaction, save for perhaps two or three specific people.

I don't want to end my life, because I shouldn't. There are a few people in this world who haven't earned that kind of grief, and I refuse to inflict that level of pain on them, knowing firsthand exactly how devastating it is. If my circumstances were different, perhaps I would be giving more serious thought to it.

What I want to know is: how does one move forward? How does one force themselves back into the "normal" world and function properly? Because for me, the motivation isn't there. I can't do it. In fact, I recoil from the very idea.
In a perfect world, I would simply disappear into some remote forest far away from civilization and live out the rest of my days in silence...