A man I met on the internet is planning his suicide. I’ve never met him in person. He bought a rope tonight. He seems like a nice guy, has a dog and a job. He set the date to end his life. I don’t know what his hair smells like or which cigarettes he smokes. He told us he is taking some time beforehand to say his goodbyes. Tonight has been spinning.
There is nothing quite like the plight of another to bring you out of your own mental suffering. My anxiety, my depression, my broken relationships, all of it can wait. This stranger needs me. I think he went to sleep. I wanted to talk to him, but he wasn’t there. I messaged him for an hour- just ramblings. Thoughts on the topic including my own attempt. I told him about the drugs I am on, the exercises my counselor has recommended. I told him about the song I use to get through the winter, and the blue light device my husband bought me to help. I don’t want to leave him alone- even if he hates me for it- because alone is the worst way to feel.
I don’t know this stranger friend. Yet I want to save his life. I want to hear his heartbeat more than ever now. I want to feel how he feels in a hug. He is kind. He’s funny and witty; he knows things that he teaches us. But he is broken. He is broken in a way we can all relate to. I don’t know any underlying cause for his depression. He doesn’t need one. He doesn’t need to explain himself to anyone. Everyone should try to help him. No one deserves to feel so low that their only escape is permanence.
I would like to meet my stranger friend one day. I just didn’t expect it to be so painful.
I’m not a stranger to depression. I live in the frozen tundra and seasonal depression is a way of life up here. I went through previous bouts of depression after my sister died and after my first miscarriage.
It’s back. It’s been slowly building for months.
I hate it, but I have to deal with it now.
It’s not normal to sit on the couch and sob because my house is a mess and it seems like all my friends have older kids who don’t leave toy cars all over the floor. Everyone has problems. Everyone has issues. If my kids were older, there would be other messes, other problems. Wishing my children were in high school is not going to fix anything.
I feel like everyone around me has their life together while I’m falling apart. I have no interest in taking care of my house. I don’t want my pets anywhere near me. The puppy I didn’t even want, but has completely attached himself to me, needs training, but I can’t handle it. Our latest (surprise!) litter of kittens need to be litter-box trained. I can’t deal with that either. My children annoy me. Important paperwork that needs to be taken care of sits untouched because I can’t process the thoughts about how to even fill them out. My kitchen is a disaster. My living room looks like a tornado came through it. I have a load of laundry that is probably molding inside my washing machine right now.
I’ve never understood people who run away from their lives and start over. Until now. It’s really tempting. I used to go for drives by myself when I needed to blow off some steam. But now, I can’t trust myself to get behind the wheel because I don’t know if I would come back. I know my husband and my children need me. I stay because of a sense of duty, but my heart isn’t in it right now.
On Sunday, I had a really bad cold. With my husband home, I could go in the bedroom and rest. I took a good book, my laptop, my phone, my headphones, and stayed all by myself in bed for most of the day. It was the happiest I’ve been in weeks – being alone and able to do whatever I wanted. I read. I napped. I listened to some favorite music. I watched a movie that didn’t involve animated creatures. It was heavenly. When I finally had to leave the comfort of my room and my bed, I had to resist the urge to kick and scream and act like my 3-year-old when he’s overtired and I tell him he has to take a nap.
This morning, a family issue required my action, and I had what I’m guessing was an anxiety attack. I shut down. I could not do what was needed. I started shaking, and tears poured down my face. Thankfully, that action was able to be put off until tomorrow and I have time to prepare myself mentally for what I need to do.
This is scary.
My husband recognized last week that I’m not well and insisted that I get help. I met with my doctor yesterday, and she put me on an antidepressant. Unfortunately, I know all too well from all of my husband’s bipolar medications that mood and brain altering drugs can take weeks to take effect. I do no look forward to the wait.
I’ve made an appointment to meet with a therapist. I’ve let some family members and my closest friends know what’s going on with me and everyone has been really supportive.
This will be long …for me at least (A.D.D. will start soon..)
If you have read my stories, you will know that I don’t forget faces, especially those from relationships. And if you have read my stories, you know I talk about one specific girl in my stories – “Marie.” She put me in a downward spiral of self hate, self harm, and no self worth.
School recently started. I saw her, but I didn’t recognize her. Me, the one who never forgets a face, never gets over a girl, and I forgot! I got over her. I wanted to start crying, breaking down. For some reason, my life had frozen. I didn’t try to look for her like I used to. I had forgotten her, forgot it all. I didn’t just forget “Marie,” but the rape, the hate, all of it.
I forgot everything except the hate. People hate me because I have screwed up. I am angry. I have unimaginable rage. Right now, even the computer I’m typing on is angering me so much, but I resist. I resist the urge to lash out.
So, I met a girl. She is the sweetest girl, and she just stops me. I know I will regret saying this, but I really do love her. She is my world. When “Brina” just caresses me and holds me tight, she stops the rage and anger …and the self harm.
The earlier generations don’t seem to understand. To them, depression is a mood, not a mental illness. We didn’t choose the pain, self harm, or anger, we were born with it. We grew up faking the smile, hiding it until some sees a cut, the scar tissue, the hole in the wall, the pure hatred of society.
We struggle to simply wake up in the morning and function as a human beings, yet we still wake up. We get up, even though there is no motivation, our faces tear-stained, our hearts beating for that one girl or boy we like. We want that one special person to know the pain, the quirks, the oddities, and unknown anger. We want that one person to look into our eyes and know our hearts beat for love.
I want that one girl to see me and know that my eyes see only her. I want her to see why I wake to an ever-beating heart deep in my chest.
I found that girl. And she saw me…
My anger is clashing with my feelings of love and affection! Please help me. Reach out to me. I want to start changing my life!
I just want you to know that I read each and every one of the posts that go up on here. Each post makes me feel an array of different emotions and I wish I could reach through the screen and hug every single one of you. You are so strong and courageous for putting your stories up for the world to see.
Now, having said that. I have a few things I want you guys to think about.
Life is too short to continue doing things that don’t make you happy. If you are in a sour relationship that you don’t foresee going anywhere, get out! It may be hard at first, but you will be so much happier once you drop the dead weight. You and only you hold the power to your own happiness. Why waste months or even years with someone who doesn’t make you happy? Each day is a gift. A gift that shouldn’t be wasted.
Are you sick and tired of doing the same thing day in and day out? Change it! Have the courage to jump out of the endless cycle you’ve found yourself in and start something new! Whether it be a career change, or a new hobby, just do it!
I don’t want you to look back at your life years from now and wish you had done something different. Now is the time to do that something different.
Want to go back to school, learn a new trade? Do it! What is stopping you? If it’s money that is holding you back, look into all of the grants and loans you could get. Start somewhere.
Surround yourself with people who love and care about you and want you to be happy. If there is someone or multiple people bringing you down, let them go. All they are doing is holding you back from who you want to be.
No matter how long you have traveled down this road you are on, there is always an escape route. You can turn around at any point and find a new way. It will be scary to travel into the unknown, but I know you can do it!
If you suffer from depression, know that there is a way out. Talk to someone, maybe even get on to a medication if you can. You don’t have to suffer any longer. Get out and change it. Find something you love and do it! Do what makes you happy. Always.
If you have been knocked down in life, get back up! You may feel like your life is in pieces scattered all over the floor, but you can pick them up and put them back together. You can heal. You can overcome anything that comes your way. You got this!
Happiness is achievable, you just have to work for it. There isn’t a little fairy that will come around and sprinkle happy dust on you, you have to get out there and find your own happiness. You are all worth it and all deserve happiness. If you sit back and look at your life and find that you aren’t happy, find the problem and fix it. Life is far too short to waste precious moments doing things or being with someone who doesn’t make you happy.
You are worth it.
You are strong.
You are courageous.
You can do this!
I believe in every single one of you. Now go find your happy!
My stepfather was not always an abusive alcoholic. He was simply a man who loved a glass of scotch in the evening before bed during the early years of my childhood, the years I called him “Daddy.” He was kind-hearted and taught me the life lessons that a girl needs in order to become a compassionate member of the human society.
No, he was not always an abusive alcoholic but he is now.
Don Mustard has been my dad since I was eighteen months old. I was not fond of men as an infant, especially those I had never met. Despite this, on the day we met, I ran straight to him and begged him to pick me up. We became inseparable for the next several years.
I owe most of my character to this man. My love for animals, my passion for hunting, my need to be around horses, and my unconditional love can all be attributed to the years I spent at his heels. I learned the value of hard work by taking care of orphaned cattle from the rancher that employed him. I woke up in the wee hours of the mornings to answer the cries of a calf searching for breakfast and did so without complaint. I had no friends during my elementary years because I smelled like animals, but I cared not. I had a family who loved me. I had a large variety of animals that were much kinder than humans for companionship. I was happy.
I was entering junior high when I began to notice that there was a problem. The bottle that had taken my dad a few weeks to finish now needed to be replaced once a week, and soon after, twice a week. As a family that was struggling just to keep food on the table, this seemed like a luxury that we just could not afford. However, my mom discovered that being unable to provide this bottle was a much worse problem than the money that was being spent on it. Dad would become irritated without his “nightcap,” but we just brushed it off as crankiness.
Then, the irritation was turned my way. Suddenly, nothing I did was right. I was an honor roll student and worked right beside the cowboys on the ranch from dusk until dawn, with the exception of school hours. Still, it was not enough. I was the entire reason for his and my mother’s marital problems in his opinion. I was called a mistake or “that bastard child” on more than one occasion. I would fall asleep many nights in tears. I worked harder to achieve more, aching to hear him tell me he was proud of me once again. It never came.
My mother sat me down during my freshman year of high school and explained our situation to me. My once loving dad was sick, and until he would admit it, there was nothing that she or I could do to make him happy again.
I did my research, like any good student. I learned everything I could about alcoholism, not only about the physical effects, but the psychological effects as well. I learned that the man who spat such ugly words at night was simply not the man who had taught me to ride a bicycle and tie my shoe. Sadly, he might not ever be again.
I wanted to be angry with him.
After all, he was the one who had taught me that allowing anything or anyone to have such a hold over your actions made you weak. The night his anger turned to physical blows, I might have grown resentful, had I not been able to remember one cold morning in a deer stand so many years before. I had proven myself to be a near perfect shot, after years of practice, and I was being rewarded with my very first hunting trip. The excitement of the next morning kept me awake most of the night, and I jumped out of bed the moment my mother woke me. I entered the living room proudly wearing my new gear. That warm camouflage uniform was prettier than any dress in my personal opinion. I tucked my bright red hair into the baseball cap and double-checked the gun that I had lovingly cleaned the night before. My mother handed my dad a lunch box with sandwiches and jerky, and we were off. He drove patiently and carefully through the field while his daughter was unable to stop talking in bubbly excitement over the possibilities of the day.
My dad did all the talking once we were in the deer blind, keeping his voice down to a barely audible whisper as he spoke about the feeling of sighting a deer through the sights of your gun. He warned me about the possibility of freezing up once my sights were lined up and told me how to fight through it. Soon, those words of experience soon turned to wise lessons of life and love.
I valued these lessons and tucked them away for later years, but it was his speech about unconditional love that would eventually turn that little girl into the woman I am today. He told me, “when you love someone, be it your family, an animal, or your husband, you must love them unconditionally. Everyone makes mistakes and we always hurt the ones who love us the most. Love is worthless unless it’s unconditional. You must always forgive those you love without hesitation. If it isn’t unconditional, then it isn’t love at all.”
Many years later, I would forgive him instantly for his abuse. This abuse increasingly grew more violent, and by the time I moved out of my parent’s home, I was grateful to be free of his anger and bitterness. I kept the lessons he taught me in the deer blind close to my heart but added my own touch to it. I decided that while love was worthless unless it was unconditional, that did not mean that a person had to stick around to be abused and walked on. A person could love unconditionally while doing so from a distance.
My dad’s drinking grew increasingly worse after my mother passed away. Today, his mind is half gone from the booze and the evidence is apparent even during the sober moments of the daytime. He has become an empty shell of a man. He is deeply affected by depression and seeks to fill his emptiness with women who could never hope to fill the shoes my mother left behind. He has yet to admit that he has a problem. I still love him unconditionally although I am sure he would tell you otherwise.
I will always be grateful for the earlier years that I spent with my dad. I am a woman who always seeks a brighter future because of these moments. More importantly, I know how to love someone with everything I have, no matter their crimes against others or me. Experience has taught me that there are not many souls out there who can say the same. Most people speak their love without ever knowing exactly how to show it. My Daddy taught me that showing it is more important than three empty words and my children will learn this as well. That is the greatest gift any man could have passed down to his daughter.
I have lost hope that he will ever seek the help he needs to change but on the day of his funeral, I will proudly stand there and speak of the man before the disease. I believe that on that day, I will finally receive his pride as he watches my eulogy through eyes unclouded by booze. Maybe then he will realize that I learned my lessons well and grew up to be everything he had once hoped for. Alcoholism will have finally released its hold on my dad. I will not speak of the horrible deeds or the years I spent as his victim. After all, love is worthless unless it is unconditional.
I’d always believed that my mother loved me and all her interference in my life was to make me better, stronger. Blindly, I trusted that she meant for me to be happy. But I also knew that … something was wrong. I never could do right by her and I just knew that something was wrong with me. She was inside my head, under my skin, causing me to drown. I lost my strength and discovered that I feared her.
These revelations took over a year – it was a whole process for me.
My life had fallen apart and I went to a specialized therapy clinic for help. There, I learned I was codependent. My therapist actually told me “you have a bad mother, you need to protect yourself from her.”
I was shocked.
I talked to my mother as I came out of the clinic and decided to break contact with her. Afterward, I felt so guilty and sunk into a very deep depression. I think I put all my energy into avoiding contact with her. I was stuck in bed, only leaving to go to therapy.
I couldn’t understand my mother’s attitude toward me. How could she be so crazy insensitive to what I was going through? I was obsessed with the question “why?” After seven months of therapy, I discovered that it was helpless to believe there was a way to save our relationship. I remember my therapist saying “no, I don’t think so. Any relationship with her, you’ll only get hurt.”
I cried so much. It was such a big loss. I finally understood how much she’d taken from me. How she enslaved me, took away everything I got, people that I loved. My mother had bullied me all of my life. The pain was indescribable; I was destroyed. Crying every day, having nightmares all night.
None of this made sense. I felt that she’d only rest once I’d killed myself. How could she be so awful to me? I did everything for her; gave her more than I had to give. Was it really just jealousy? Why? Why had she been so cruel to me? My therapist explained that she’s a narcissistic mother; she has narcissistic personality disorder. I was her extension. It was quite confusing so I turned to the internet for answers. I didn’t know what having a narcissistic mother meant.
There I found it. I understood the way I’d felt my whole life. I understood her attitude toward me.
I learned the tactics of psychological manipulation: invalidation, gaslighting, parentification, triangulation, narcissistic rage. Convincing me to do the opposite of what my gut said. Denying my needs.
I was deadly shocked for I don’t know, months? I haven’t really recovered. My symptoms increased, I developed panic disorder, my self-esteem melted, felt so insecure talking to people or making changes in my life.
For five months, I stopped dealing with it – it was just too much. I’m still unable to deal with anything or anyone. I feel lost, I’m afraid that I’m too damaged to be able to be happy. I’m paralyzed. I have no idea who I am.
I’m 40 and I lost my childhood, my innocence, my adult life. I am sick, depressed, lonely, and terrified.
I discovered The Band Back Together Project, for which I am very grateful. Thanks to reading your stories, I now know that I did the right thing in stopping contact to my mother. That was really killing me.
I can understand all the pain I’m feeling. How badly I’m grieving this loss. To top it off, I discovered that my father also has narcissistic personality disorder.
I’ve been badly abused all of my life. No wonder I’m unable to do what I want and need, how absolutely everybody in my life has abused me, why I can’t stand up for myself.
Knowing that I am not alone and understanding my symptoms gives me hope. I understand that I need treatment and support. I’ll return to therapy which I hope can help me to learn to feel angry, to defend myself, to stop feeling guilty all the time. To allow me to have things, a family, someone that treats me well. I hope I’ll never have abusers in my life again.
I wish I could see what life is like. Until now, I’ve never had a life of my own to lead; I was just a stupid toy, trying to please everyone for love and attention. I want to learn to respect myself and set clear emotional boundaries with other people.
The hardest part is to see how damaged I am. That’s really scary.
Thank you, Band Back Together for giving me the opportunity to speak out. I don’t need to be ashamed; I was abused, I am a victim. Thank you for showing me that.
Can you, The Band, share your stories about being an adult child of narcissistic parents?
I really want to believe this emotional trauma will end and I will, at long last, be free.
