32 posts shown.
ironcrane122 said:vividmarlin5, go ahead and vent to a stranger—at least they’re a professional, so you won't regret it!
I suppose some people gave you decent advice up there—with professional help, things might finally settle into place, and eventually, you'll be able to decide how much more you want to deal with. If you happen to run into someone shady—which, let's face it, you'll sense instantly—don't lose heart; just move on and knock on the next door.
Fight for it—it's about you!
Only thing is, I don't get how you can't share all this with your brother or sister... With their support, surely navigating this would be easier... Is it even possible for your paths to be that different from theirs?
Good luck!
🙂
First off, thanks for the support, ironcrane122. 🙂
As for why I can't talk to my brother? They live in a completely different world—blinded, really—just kids who couldn't care less. We all can't stand each other because that's just how we were raised. I love my siblings, but there's a certain level of rage and resentment in everyone's eyes—though, I guess I am slowly trying to change and be different. It's constant screaming, yelling, and fighting from morning until night among every single family member. There's no love there. At least, I haven't found any yet. My only real solace is locking myself in my room with headphones on, or just heading out into the city—anywhere else, really.
electricdriver78 said:It’s honestly getting so irritating—how people constantly try to play detective, trying to figure out who's actually posting these threads and whether they're being truthful or not.
Does it even matter???
What matters is that the question was asked—and any bit of advice, personal experience, or word of support might help someone—if not the original poster, then maybe some reader who doesn't have the strength to write about their own struggles.
And there are far too many of them—people who are just terrified of being labeled as crazy, hysterical, or mentally unstable.
I used to feel that way myself—a long time ago—until I finally decided to pack up everything, head back to my hometown, and fight for my life.
We need to talk, write, and read about mental health—just so we can finally strip away that layer of shame surrounding people living with these conditions.
So they don't have to hide when visiting a psychiatrist, and so they aren't met with pity or contempt just because they're seeking treatment.
I completely agree with you, electricdriver78. If I didn't know anyone on this forum, I probably would have introduced myself using my actual name, but I haven't. I don't want to shock anyone right now—including myself, I guess. Everything will fall into place when the time comes.
I still deal with that sense of shame—though I'm hoping to move past it soon.
electricdriver78 said:I was feeling just like you this past summer. It’s probably good that you started venting about it—keep writing whenever you feel the urge. There are people here who get it. 😉
Maybe reading through this thread childhood trauma....might give you some courage—it certainly did for me—since then I haven't even really thought about my issues with my parents—well, maybe I feel a bit of anxiety here and there when things trigger a memory, and sometimes it feels like the past is holding me back, but those are mostly just minor setbacks that almost everyone deals with in this imperfect world. I just sit, reflect, and try to move on.
I have to say, the folks on this forum have been incredibly helpful. Thanks to everyone 😉 👋
Thanks for the link, electricdriver78. I'll definitely read your thread too—and I'll probably print it out. 🙂
Angela Green70 said:Your roots are part of who you are—not some imaginary childhood or a collection of cherry-picked memories.
Since you'll always be tied to your parents, I guess it’s just more... normal to accept them for who they actually are—flaws and all—rather than pretending they can be someone else just to suit you.
Maybe then you could finally start valuing yourself.
The way you're talking sounds narcissistic to me. It isn't healthy.
Depression is really just self-pity and a way to center everything around yourself.
I'm speaking from personal experience.
If you're speaking from experience, then I suppose I can't wait to reach your level of enlightenment.
I accept my parents exactly as they are—they aren't going to change. I have to be the one to change. They will never be anything else, and I don't expect them to be.
To me, depression feels like self-pity, but I have never once tried to use it to grab attention. Honestly, I would give anything to not feel this way—I certainly don't want anyone noticing me like this.
Angela Green70 said:You’re still acting like a child.
You're just looking for compensation for everything you wanted but didn't get.
Sorry, but that isn't happening.
You can't make up for it—you can only move on.
And maybe try appreciating your siblings instead of resenting them for not being the firstborn.
True—unfortunately, I am acting that way, and I'm fully aware of it.
That's right; I can only go forward, never backward.
I don't envy my siblings for not being the firstborn—it seems I was misunderstood. Actually, I'm glad they didn't have to deal with what I did, and I'm relieved they aren't facing these things today the way I am. Though, I see they have plenty of their own issues—each in their own way. I'll likely be the first one to actually take a step toward self-help, and once I succeed, I'll certainly recommend the same to them. My sister already knows I plan on seeing a psychiatrist, and she's fine with it. The others are still kids, so we'll see. 🙂
Dennis said:Soraya, bSh—now vividmarlin5—you guys really need to watch your tone.
I’d love to be wrong—if I am, then my apologies to everyone.
It’s similar, I suppose—but definitely not the same thing.
I read that post by bSh too...
And what exactly is this writer getting at here?
Even though I’m just a regular user who loves to mess around, there’s this darker side to me—a part that’s struggling and practically screaming for help. I’m honestly hoping—and maybe even counting on it—that the people here will actually be able to help.
Magic said:There’s essentially an equals sign between being sick and being "crazy"—if we're being honest here.
If you have a toothache, nobody feels ashamed to see a dentist.
Just head over to the first page of my "Help Me" thread and read it—it clearly shows how much shame, awkwardness, and refusal of professional help plays a role.
You really should read it.
Magic, I am definitely going to read it. 🙂
Actually, forget just reading it—I'll probably print it out so I have a hard copy right in front of me. 🙂
Thanks.
viky said:Just like everyone else here—and I mean this sincerely—I can only suggest seeing a psychiatrist. And please, don't take this as me calling you sick or crazy. Not at all. You’re dealing with issues stemming from a rough childhood, which is just as valid as any other trauma someone might carry.
Regarding your hesitation—it’s mostly just prejudice, though living in a country like ours, I suppose I get why you feel that way. But if you actually want to feel better, you have to acknowledge the problem, and only a professional can help; you really need to realize those stigmas are only hurting you.
As for "socialized" psychiatrists—well, it's a mixed bag. If you were in San Francisco, I could probably give you a few names of doctors who are approachable but just as good as private practice ones. I'm sure you can find similar options in other major US cities.
You know deep down things won't fix themselves—so just start looking. There's no shame in therapy, and not all public doctors are bad, so what else can I say?
The sooner you seek help, the better. I'm rooting for you to find the strength to push past those prejudices. 👍
So, because of this thread, I actually swung by ExxonMobil this past Saturday just to see if anyone had responded, only to find out we're already on the second page. I'm a bit shocked—but honestly, incredibly relieved. I think I'll start responding slowly, maybe through quotes and such.
Thanks so much, viky. 🙂 🙂 Your words are actually quite encouraging, which is exactly what I need right now. I know I'm not "crazy"—I'm an adult, after all—but I still live around people who view psychiatry as a total stigma, and I need to shake that off. I'm probably the only one who thinks seeking help is normal, whereas to everyone else in my circle, it’s some abstract concept. Still, I'm preparing myself for that step because nothing else is going to work. I'm overly emotional, my self-esteem is pretty low, and I tend to shut down—so I'm certain this isn't just going to vanish on its own. Every time something bad happens, I just retreat and turn back into that pathetic kid from middle school.
Kate Kelly83 said:>
If you're feeling this low, it means you aren't just making things up—it's real. Besides, I wouldn't tell anyone if I were you; people can be incredibly cruel.
Well, the money is actually the bigger issue. My friend is dealing with some pretty heavy stuff right now—it seems like most of it stems from her childhood—and she’s seeing a private therapist who’s actually helping her. Her biggest struggle is just... shattered self-esteem, I guess. But an hour of therapy here in New York City costs $67. And she goes at least once a week. If I remember correctly, she was even going twice a week at first, back when things were at their absolute worst.
And look, my friend isn't "mentally ill"—she doesn't have depression, paranoia, or schizophrenia—she's just trying to shake off those ghosts from her past that have basically defined who she is forever.
Regarding people being cruel—you're right. I actually ended up venting to someone I barely even know. They didn't get it. They just shut me out.
God, the money. It’s getting difficult. I’ve been thinking about it, and I really don't like the idea of having to see a state-funded psychiatrist.
As for private specialists... I'd honestly pay quite a bit just to finally rid myself of those "ghosts from the past" that seem to have decided who I am.
Just like your friend, I don't suffer from any actual psychiatric illness—but I certainly don't believe these issues will just go away on their own unless I do something about them.
Sandra Wilson38 said:Why the aversion to psychiatry? Honestly, a good psychotherapist could really help you—believe me—especially if you’re too hesitant to even open up to a friend.
Did I mention my upbringing? That deep-seated distrust of psychiatry is baked right into my roots.
I suppose I'm slowly trying to work through these prejudices—it might take a real step forward.
Kate Kelly83 said:No offense intended—but honestly, you probably need some professional help.
Maybe try seeing a therapist; believe me, I know several people who have solved most of their issues that way. Unfortunately, some people just aren't fit to be parents and leave scars that last a lifetime, but eventually, you have to cut ties, make peace with the past, and move forward without all that baggage.
I don't have any ill intentions—any advice is welcome, I suppose. But this goes so deep that I just can't find the strength. I had already been thinking about seeing a psychologist, but then I mentioned it to the wrong person—my mother—who immediately criticized that as a way to solve things. It’s not even that she matters that much—I would go to a therapist regardless—it's just that then you start wondering if she's right... if these aren't actually real problems, or if I'm just overreacting... you know what I mean?
"Make peace with the past and move forward unburdened."
That is my only wish, really. 🙂>
I’ve posted this under the health section—mostly because I suspect these are psychological issues at this point. If anyone has any advice, similar experiences, or even just some kind of kind word... I suppose I would be grateful.
My childhood—I was the oldest, so I bore everything then, and I suppose I still do. My parents were constantly at each other's throats—they still are, actually. It’s usually about money—which we never had—but honestly, they’ll find a reason to fight even if one doesn't exist. It doesn't matter. My father is an alcoholic. His two brothers are alcoholics, too. His mother and late father were the same. We never really stayed in touch with that side of the family, which—if I'm being honest—is probably for the best. This house is enough for me. But he isn't a father—he's just a biological marker.
I've dealt with asthma my entire life—though, I suppose, it’s likely all just psychosomatic. Most illnesses seem to stem from that anyway... maybe.
Mother had more kids later—so naturally, none of these issues ever touch the younger ones, not even half the time. I was the firstborn, which meant I got to enjoy the "biggest and sweetest slice of the cake"—if you can call it that.
I'm in my twenties—working, surviving—but I've always been the odd one out. Just the black sheep, really; anxious, depressed, and perpetually uneasy, especially when stepping into unfamiliar territory. I can't seem to shake the dread—it follows me everywhere. I just don't know how to switch off, and frankly, it hurts. Making friends or even just socializing feels impossible. I find myself envying those people who can just... walk up to a stranger and start a conversation without a hint of nerves. They have these massive circles of friends where everything is just fine. Me? I only have a handful of people I can actually trust—and even then, it’s limited. I never open up about family stuff—never. My friends don't have any idea what I'm actually going through, and honestly, the shame of it is overwhelming. Every time I think about finally opening up to my best friend, I chicken out. Because I know if I actually started talking, the tears would just come—and I probably wouldn't be able to stop for hours.
I never really received the kind of parental love a child actually needs—not that I expected much—so I suppose I just keep looking for it in all the wrong places. It's a cycle, I guess.
Regarding relationships—it’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone, and honestly, I haven't exactly been looking—but I suppose I never really had that typical teenage experience everyone else seems to get. I was more like a sheltered dog—just going to school and coming straight home—though there weren't any strict rules forced upon me, like being told I had to be home by a certain hour or whatever. That was my own choice, I guess; growing up in an environment defined by constant criticism and dissatisfaction tends to just... drain your will. There was never any money for extracurriculars, which probably didn't help the lack of motivation—and even when I did have music lessons, the drive for that eventually just withered away too.
I fell in love at twenty—and for a long time, too. But I suppose I was looking for too much—searching for that specific brand of happiness and affection I never really got growing up. The truth is, a partner can only offer one kind of love; they can’t possibly fulfill every single void. It made me possessive—jealous, constantly asking "where are you," "why didn't you call," "why aren't we going out," "where are you heading"... and if things didn't go my way, well, my stubbornness was legendary. I honestly wonder why anyone would put up with me like that. He did, though. I ended things. I fell out of love, unlike him—it turns out he just reminded me too much of home.
I’m pining for someone I barely even know—I guess I don't truly understand why. That brief window of time feels like a dream—something entirely surreal... that person, those moments.
I’m feeling depressed, anxious—just generally low—and honestly, I have no idea where to find any shred of motivation or positivity. It isn't about searching for love again—I know that much by now—but once you get used to having it, there really is no going back. Even after a few weeks since the breakup, I just can't stop overthinking everything. Why did it end like this? Why did I act the way I did? Why can't I just behave normally like everyone else... I guess.
So, here I am—alone, whether I'm at home or stuck at the office—just spiraling through my own thoughts. I’ve finally started opening up to my mom about everything. She tells me it’s good to talk—that I need to start being vulnerable—claiming these childhood issues will just haunt me forever if I don't face them head-on. Apparently, you have to go back to the roots. But... how? How do you actually change something that was baked into your psyche decades ago? Where does one even begin to find purpose? I see the patterns—I understand exactly what the problem is and why things turned out this way—but knowing isn't the same as changing my mindset, my thoughts, or my entire self. And honestly, the worst part is that 90% of people couldn't care less about anyone else's struggles. So why bother bothering others with your problems when most people don't want to listen, let alone help?
I went to a pilgrimage site in the Midwest because my mom insisted. I shed some tears—but that’s not the point. If I actually started weeping over everything I've been through and am still dealing with, I’d probably just die from the grief—there’s no stopping it. I'd be crying for days, weeks, months... and I realized that faith isn't my salvation. It's just not working for me. I have to keep searching.
If I keep going down this path, I'm looking at a one-way ticket to a psychiatric ward.