I Am Depressed, But I am Human Too: Depression After Therapy
I was not able to continue therapy for the rest of my college and young adult career due to financial and time restrains. My depression never ended, my thoughts of suicide still lingered on a daily basis. I still felt terrible inside and incapable of finding happiness within myself. The only thing that changed is instead of being open about my pain, I started to keep my self-hatred hidden.
Whenever I felt suicidal, I didn’t reach out to friends to talk, but instead I reached out to them to get fucked up. Instead of turning to suicide attempts to try to kill myself, I used binge drinking in hopes that I would not wake up the next day. Sometimes I reached out to friends to keep myself from feeling lonely to welcome my misery. I would let all of my feelings out in drunken rages and fits that gave me a reputation of being a crazy but fun drunk. I became a ticking time bomb, some days I had happy drunken nights, other nights I was the angriest person alive.
Alcohol was not the only thing playing a part in myself destructive behavior. I became an overeater, I stopped taking care of myself and the one night stands never ended. I kept my depression to myself because I was scared of letting people know that I was a person who was in pain. The only people who were aware of my pain, were the ones who were close to me.
I got in fist fights with people who cared about me. Shouting matches with friends in public and became an embarrassment to myself. Nothing about my life made any rational sense. The people who I loved, were also my biggest enemies. I let out all of my grudges and hidden insecurities out on the people who cared. They didn’t deserve it, and they didn’t understand that I was a man who was hurting inside because I did not know how to cope with my own pain. As I became more accomplished in my adult life I became more miserable. All the things I loved, became the things I hated. Every person I got close to, recognized my misery and eventually stopped talking to me. I became worst than the bullies who bullied me as a child, because I didn’t know how to let things go. My negativity did not bring me closer to people, but kept me alone.
My coping mechanisms were dysfunctional. I became an emotional parasite to my friends and used food, booze, drugs, and awkward relationships to cope with my pain. I did my best to keep the people around me down by venting about my misery in hopes that they would feel as low as I did. I became spiteful and manipulated people’s lives so that they could not achieve happiness, because I wanted them to understand how painful that I was.
I became a lost soul, I had direction in my professional and academic life, but I did not feel purpose. I found passions in music and other hobbies, but I still felt empty. Nothing in my life felt meaningful. I thrived on short term connections and meaningless dialogue with strangers, trying to seek connection with someone in this world. I was incapable of finding confidence in my own self.
I spent the other half of my life meeting strangers, just to find closure with my emptiness. I began a music journey playing music in coffee shops, bars, and venues to talk about my sad life, but I didn’t feel fulfilled. I still felt empty. I spent countless night’s drunk and writing poetry in my apartments alone questioning why the world was such an unjust and cruel place.
I can’t blame my ongoing pain on the fact I did not continue going to therapy. My coping mechanisms did improve over time. I eventually stopped trying to kill myself, but I still felt empty. I still thought about dying some days, and I felt unable to find love. Depression crippled my ability to live, and I am the only one to blame.