I have a Problem
Actually I have several, but there is one big problem that overshadows everything else. It's like one of those plants that gets out of control and takes over.
I have always been an Introvert, a solitary person. About seven years ago I made a serious effort to become less so, and managed to go from being a hermit to being an outgoing Introvert. I'm glad I did, in part because one of the results of my forcing myself to go out and be sociable was meeting the guy I want to spend the rest of my life with. We're madly in love, even after several years and my daughter's hostility.
The trouble is that being in social settings drains me. The more people and the more I am expected to interact the more it drains me. And it has been getting worse. It's reached the point where I don't think I could handle a day job where I have to interact with people for more than a week or two without being on the verge of a mental breakdown.
Even with me spending most of my time at home, either alone or with Mark, I am having problems. It seems I can deal with, at most, one social event a week. An I'm not even talking an all day event, I'm talking about an event for a few hours in the evening. Even ones where the social aspect is secondary and I like all the people.
Last year I tried to get help, but the help wasn't very helpful. I don't think it was the right help and I am heistant to try again. Part of this is that the idea of dealing with my shit is frightening, part of it is that I'm afraid of being pressured into taking drugs for my problem and part of it is simply that I'm afraid that the help won't be helpful and another failure to get help on that front would make me feel like more of a freak than I already am!
However the events of last year, which began with me checking myself into the mental health ward at a nearby hospital because I was feeling suicidal, did have some benefits. For one thing it kept me from offing myself, and I did learn a few things. Some of the things I learned were unpleasant, like it's worse to be thinking suicidal without feeling suicidal. Some of the things I learned were amusing, like the one drug they tried me on that made me high as a kite! (My daughter wishes she could have seen that.)
One of the things I learned, which was largely influenced by factors not directly related to the help that wasn't as helpful as I had hoped, is that depression isn't my problem. It's a symptom. This is one of the reasons I worry about being pressured into taking drugs, they won't do a damn bit of good if what they treat isn't the real problem.
I suppose the next step has to be finding a way to get myself comfortable enough to tell myself what the real problem is. Or, to be more honest, what the real problems are. Because it's not just one thing. (And I do know what some of the things are. Maybe I'll even share them here.)
I have always been an Introvert, a solitary person. About seven years ago I made a serious effort to become less so, and managed to go from being a hermit to being an outgoing Introvert. I'm glad I did, in part because one of the results of my forcing myself to go out and be sociable was meeting the guy I want to spend the rest of my life with. We're madly in love, even after several years and my daughter's hostility.
The trouble is that being in social settings drains me. The more people and the more I am expected to interact the more it drains me. And it has been getting worse. It's reached the point where I don't think I could handle a day job where I have to interact with people for more than a week or two without being on the verge of a mental breakdown.
Even with me spending most of my time at home, either alone or with Mark, I am having problems. It seems I can deal with, at most, one social event a week. An I'm not even talking an all day event, I'm talking about an event for a few hours in the evening. Even ones where the social aspect is secondary and I like all the people.
Last year I tried to get help, but the help wasn't very helpful. I don't think it was the right help and I am heistant to try again. Part of this is that the idea of dealing with my shit is frightening, part of it is that I'm afraid of being pressured into taking drugs for my problem and part of it is simply that I'm afraid that the help won't be helpful and another failure to get help on that front would make me feel like more of a freak than I already am!
However the events of last year, which began with me checking myself into the mental health ward at a nearby hospital because I was feeling suicidal, did have some benefits. For one thing it kept me from offing myself, and I did learn a few things. Some of the things I learned were unpleasant, like it's worse to be thinking suicidal without feeling suicidal. Some of the things I learned were amusing, like the one drug they tried me on that made me high as a kite! (My daughter wishes she could have seen that.)
One of the things I learned, which was largely influenced by factors not directly related to the help that wasn't as helpful as I had hoped, is that depression isn't my problem. It's a symptom. This is one of the reasons I worry about being pressured into taking drugs, they won't do a damn bit of good if what they treat isn't the real problem.
I suppose the next step has to be finding a way to get myself comfortable enough to tell myself what the real problem is. Or, to be more honest, what the real problems are. Because it's not just one thing. (And I do know what some of the things are. Maybe I'll even share them here.)