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Why won't the world let me die?


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Let me give some back ground, I was sexually abused at a very young age by my sisters friends and my GP. I also had a number of near death experiences from anaphylaxis and a very close call to drowning. I believe these events were responsible for triggering my bipolar or PTSD that evolved into bipolar.

My adolescance was marked with bullying and self imposed isolation. I moved schools frequently and made friendships but I was too damaged, chronic insomnia from worry and subsequent truancy got me kicked out. At this point I was heavily medicated and its a matter of opinion if it was for the better or worse. In this period I had several unsuccessful suicide attemps.

In highschool I was put in a special program for others like me. This was perhaps the happiest time of my life, I had many friends and mutual as opposed to unrequited love for the first time. It was not all joy with the repeated trial and error and subsequent withdraw of medications.

In stark contrast to the previous few years I was admitted to a psychiatric hospital, my time there was misery. I was stripped of the medications that were evidently holding me together. I could not sleep, living on 2-5 hours a night. I think I cried more in those 4 months than in the previous 4 years. Despite my agony I stayed hoping in vain that I would get better, eventually it was too much and I had to escape.

My self imposed exile caused severe agoraphobia which I have been living with for about a decade. My occcupation is an artist so it hasnt been limited much by that. I have been having severe artistic blocks from my depression, unable to paint or play music for several months.

The worst part though is my love sickness, I feel that one of these days I will truly die of a broken heart. If you have someone, hold them tight and be mindful of all of those unable to do so.

Each day I wake up and wonder why I have been given another day of life. I read of young people with bright futures taken away by accidents and wonder why not me?

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It just isn't your time, that's why. We were given the gift of life, and we get to choose what we do with it. Before this life you chose what obstacles you needed to overcome, in order to advance to the next level. So be true to yourself and love yourself. That is where it starts. Once you can understand how special and important you are - I really really believe that you are! You may begin to see the world differently, and realize you are a part of it, and it is a part of you. The best parts inside of you and the rest of the world are just waiting to be explored. I wish you the best of luck in finding your path.. and I believe that you will. :-)

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Are you back on medication now?

Yes, but I dont really feel much better on them. I take them daily regardless of my doubts at their effectiveness. I'm on 150mg of quetiapine, 10mg clomipramine, 300mg bupropion and 1mg alprazolam. I know my psychiatrist would class me as a high suicide risk, I simply cant because I have too many obligations.

I thank you all for your kind words

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I am so sorry for what you are going through right now.  Anything I could say would probably sound like a cliche because I have often been right there with you in those thoughts.  Just know that I am sending you good wishes and prayers.  Everyone is different with their meds, and it took a seemingly strange (in our country for our condition but used in Europe frequently) one to sort of "snap" the other meds in place.  I guess my point here is that if your psychiatrist is not working carefully with you "one med" at a time, see somebody who is really informed and good at medication combinations; the right (reputable) person can save your life.  I was one day from suicide (had the note ready) when my friend took me to a new psychiatrist.  She took one look at me, leaned forward and said, "Don't you ever give up on you because I won't."  For some reason, that was the thing that made me think, "Wait a bit--maybe, just maybe someone can help".  It wasn't immediate, but within a relatively short length of time, I began to feel some improvement, on to where I thought I couldn't ever be.  I wish you peace.

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I was also sexually abused by my parents and my brother from the time that I was a baby onward. I finally cracked at 13 and tried to take my life many times. I became very angry with God because I just couldn't die.

I'm not sure what to say to you to give you hope besides to say that I came to believe that my end of life wasn't mine to choose. I don't get to choose when my time comes. Or maybe I just wasn't finished living yet, as you aren't either.

At 26, I finally got help from an excellent therapist. Things got better beyond my wildest dreams. I processed through my traumas, and as hard as that was, it brought me much healing.

Despite my healing, I still suffered from depressive episodes and suicidal thoughts. I eventually accepted that I needed medication in addition to therapy. Now with that combination, meds and therapy, things are better, one day at a time.

I was so sick a few years back that my illness became life threatening. It was a very scary time. I believe I have been given a second chance at life many times. Which is hard to accept sometimes when I wish I didn't have to suffer any more.

I don't know why me, why I had to go through so much pain. But sometimes what motivates me to get through it is the hope that I can reach out and help others in my situation. To let them know that it's never really hopeless, it just seems that way at times.

I also do art, though not for a living. When I feel inspired, I like to channel my feelings into my art, and I have produced some beautiful paintings from that. I hang them up in my apartment so that I can be inspired by that beauty and hope rather than the negative thoughts and feelings that sometimes bring me down.

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My father sexually abused me, which set me up for a decade of brutal sexual violence from partners. I have BP also.

 

Not much I can say other than what I have already. I have seen people with trauma and mental illness make amazing art and also make new lives for themselves and that inspires me to do better. I am standing with you in trying to figure this out.

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It is comforting to hear words of strength from others who suffer as I do. I feel like I can help others by being positive and encouraging but helpless to help myself. For the time being I'm able to keep the mask of wellness up around my friends, but I had a major crack when I visited an old friend with some new ones. Towards the end of the trip I had a major breakdown after a confrontation about my mood on the trip and I had a full panic attack. I quickly left the room, found the quietest place I could find and uncontrollably cried. Hyperventilating as I tried to calm myself in vain with breathing techniques, experiencing flashbacks for what felt like an eternity. My friends tried to console me, clearly a nerve was struck that was unintended and eventually I was able to compose myself. Perhaps it has to do with antiquated views on manhood but I feel great shame about this moment of weakness. It feels as though a rift has begun between us and I feel distant from some of my closest confidants.During this time period I had switched my AP to saphris which in hindsight was a mistake, I think I started having mixed episodes.

Back home it has left me still feeling fragile having somatic complaints and avoiding friends, but that has started to recede. My mask seems to be repaired, I'm able to fake feeling happy until it becomes real when I am around them. The feeling of wishing lady death would come for me subsides mostly for now. Even though I have been agnostic for a long time I have been strangly praying to saint Jude, whose feast day is coincidentally my birthday. I'll take all the help I can get, real or imagined to complete the seemingly Sisyphean task of getting out of this depression.

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I pray to St Jude too, oddly enough.

Maybe the mask is part of the burden. Yeah, letting it all hang out is impractical. But as a human being, your feelings need a safe outlet, as an artist, living a fake life is destructive. I think choosing who you talk to and when is part of self care, but having to pretend usually makes mental health worse, not better.

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