How do I keep going?

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...

crimsonharbor72 said: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...

I wouldn't go that far...

I just don't know how to live or function like a normal person anymore. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I can’t...

After everything I've been through, I simply cannot keep going like this.
I have zero desire to live, zero motivation to do anything, and absolutely no will to step foot outside or socialize. Honestly, I'd much rather stay isolated by myself because that's where I feel most comfortable. I have dealt with a hundred different disasters in my life that most people couldn't even imagine experiencing, and frankly, I am exhausted. I'm worn out, and I see absolutely no point in trying to pull myself together when I’m convinced that something else terrible is just waiting around the corner—because that seems to be the pattern of my life.

Look, I'm not claiming you have some official medical diagnosis, but based on what you're describing, I firmly believe you should seek professional help.
When people hit a wall and can't move forward on their own, when they're struggling to reconcile with the things that have happened to them, they sometimes just need a real conversation—one that gets to the core of the issue and helps them find a way to actually move in the right direction.

crimsonharbor72 said: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...

Just take it one tiny step at a time. Don't worry about big plans or stressing over where you'll be in five, ten, or fifteen years...
Just finish that one exam. Keep your place clean like you always do. Plan a little outing. Read a book. Find those little things that make you smile and just soak them in. And above all, try to spend time with people; try to avoid those moments where you're just sitting alone spiraling about the past, the future, or the meaning of life. You don't have to love everyone you hang out with, it's enough to just accept them for who they are...
Since you love yourself and you know there are people out there who truly care about you, that's already such a huge reason to stay positive...

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.

Then maybe don't go forcing yourself into social circles. You’ve been through something absolutely horrific... and maybe this is just one bad moment in a long string of them. Because of that, you probably think everyone else sees the world the way you do. They don't. They don't see it because they haven't lived through what you have. Honestly, I think group therapy might actually help you, if there's even anything available around here for people who have lost loved ones.
A friend of mine had her life taken seven years ago... killed by her husband. She left behind two incredible sons—both of them incredibly talented, handsome kids. After that happened, the older one just completely shut down. He broke up with his girlfriend (he was only 18 at the time) because he felt like she didn't get him, he ditched his friends, dropped out of school... and he carries this crushing guilt, thinking that if he had just been there... but he couldn't have been there. Seven years later, he still won't leave the house.
Other people just can't understand you. Even if someone else went through something similar, it’s still not the same thing. We all process trauma differently. Just try to realize that there was nothing you could have done to change it... most things in our lives are completely out of our control, no matter how much we want them to be different... or how much it hurts.

crimsonharbor72 said: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.

Don't force it, seriously... if big crowds aren't your vibe, don't push yourself. Just don't go totally hermit mode either, maybe just grab coffee with one person here and there... finding those small connections helps keep your head in a good place...
It’s not all about the massive outings

crimsonharbor72 said: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 totally get that, since I'm not really a huge fan of therapists myself, and definitely not psychiatrists... but hey, if things don't start looking up after a while and you feel like you're sinking, maybe it's worth considering... there are some decent ones out there...

Just take it slow and start with the little things... try to focus on stuff that actually makes you happy and feels fulfilling... and maybe try not to spend *all* your time spiraling into deep thoughts about life and why we're even here... some things are just the way they are, and there's nothing you can do to change them...

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.

crimsonharbor72 said: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.

That's not "working for you," you're just running from your problems. Figure out how to actually deal with them. Also, you still have plenty of options, so try to stop spiraling and start thinking positively—instead of just wallowing, tell yourself, "things suck right now, I'm fixing them, and eventually, I'll be fine."😉

crimsonharbor72, people’s social batteries fluctuate wildly depending on where they are in life. one season you’re all about hitting up parties, the next you just want to stay in and lock the door. sometimes you crave connection, sometimes you need space, and sometimes those two vibes just crash into each other.

It doesn't have to happen, but you might hit a point where you wonder why you stayed so isolated back then—like you missed out on some huge opportunity that feels way harder to grab now. Honestly, the worst part is that regret over "missed" moments, because most of the time, you didn't actually miss anything. You just weren't in a headspace to handle it at the time. Even so, that feeling of longing can still weigh you down heavy.

Given where you're at right now, don't force it. I totally get that feeling of wanting zero human contact. Just don't shut the door on socializing entirely. I doubt you've closed it for good, otherwise you wouldn't be asking how to find the motivation to get back out there.

So, no pressure, but maybe start mentally mapping out what kind of crew would actually fit your vibe. Think about finding one or two people who don't make hanging out feel like a chore or an escape mission. Maybe there are some folks from your college classes you haven't really talked to yet. You never know... For now, just take care of yourself without the guilt, and slowly set the stage so that when you're ready, you can step back into a social circle that actually feels comfortable.

Maybe use the idea of "future you" as motivation—the version of you that won't feel this way forever. One day, something might just click, and you'll suddenly feel a nudge to reach out. Nothing crazy, just a little spark. It's like how a dad might not get his kid because they're so different; maybe you can't fully wrap your head around who you'll be in the future either, since you won't be exactly the same person you are today.

Anyway, I'm just trying to tackle the question you asked in the intro. I've used a lot of "maybe" because I don't know your whole story—only you do. Regardless, wishing you nothing but the best! 🙂

crimsonharbor72 said: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 totally get you. Whenever life starts throwing one bad thing after another my way, I also tend to pull back from people. I have zero interest in small talk or discussing things that feel completely pointless. I just retreat, shut the door, and find some peace in being by myself. Socializing never helps me get through those phases... it honestly just drains me even more.
You say you aren't depressed, but from where I'm sitting, it looks like you might be. Maybe not the heavy kind where you can't even get out of bed, but definitely something is going on. You aren't finding any joy in life right now, everything just seems negative...🙂
I think you might just still be processing some traumatic stuff and need time to digest it all. Honestly, having a good conversation with a psychologist or a therapist could really help you navigate this stretch...😉

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.

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.

Start with the absolute basics 👍

If you find yourself drawing a blank, then perhaps an even more radical simplification is required 😬

One ought to lower their expectations and set realistic goals... stay humble... and remain persistent 🧐

I recall my own struggle... breathing... I spent so much time searching for a way to simply breathe for a few minutes without pain... just relaxed... at peace... a few months passed, and then, bit by bit

And here I am, having discovered a new way of functioning... when I push myself too hard, I try to slow down and find a rhythm that works for me... without absolutely killing myself, since I am certainly not running a marathon... if I am giving everything I have and walking is my absolute limit, then in my mind, it feels just as taxing as running a marathon... or perhaps even a triathlon 🕺

crimsonharbor72 said: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.

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

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.

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.

crimsonharbor72, have you ever considered seeing a therapist?

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 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.

Look, I get why you have such a massive grudge against the profession. Believe me, I do. But let’s be clear: we aren't talking about some "prophetic Milani" types or street-corner charlatans. Of course, in any field—whether it's medicine, law, or even plumbing—you're going to find people who are completely unfit for the job and end up doing a subpar job because of it. But there are massive differences between the hacks and the professionals.
First off, I assumed you were planning to see a psychotherapist—and it doesn't matter if they hold a psychology degree or a medical license. We are talking about someone who, after finishing their university degree, put in an additional five years of rigorous, specialized training just to become a therapist. And trust me, they don't just let anyone in. They don't accept people who lack the capacity for this work. I personally know a doctor, a neurologist, who tried to undergo psychotherapy training and couldn't make it through even a single year. He was simply barred from practicing because he wasn't ready.

Alright, I know that's a lot of information to digest, but my point is simple: being a psychotherapist isn't something you just stumble into, and we aren't dealing with frauds here. A competent therapist will actually understand what you're going through.

As for that tragic case where someone took their own life due to a misdiagnosis... I'm not going to dwell on that. We don't have the full story or the clinical details to make a fair judgment.

If I were in your shoes—and I say this strictly for your own sake—I would try to push past this intense aversion you have toward the field. From everything I can see, you could really benefit from professional help. Given your current situation, it feels like you don't have many options left. Just give it a shot. If therapy doesn't work, you can always walk away.