What’s the worst that can happen? You’ll get a No. But that wouldn’t be the end of the world. You’ll still be alright in the long run.
And there are lots of possible Yesses. It’s never wrong to reach out and there’s always somebody, somewhere, who you’ll connect with. But you’ll never know unless you try and you did it. A great step forward, I think.
I think people heavily underestimate worst case scenarios :p. An even worse case scenario (not even the worst) is them calling everyone over to gawk at my pathetic email and then being mocked for sending it by everybody who knows my face every time I bump into them. Not likely, but worst case scenarios rarely are. 
(FWIW, if I had asked out certain assholes in middle school I would’ve gotten this. Not that I wanted to be their friends because they were assholes, but I’m 100% sure if I had asked one of them out or tried to be friendly they would have turned it against me instantly. To bullies attempts at friendship from someone in their “out group” is akin to a mockable pathetic weakness. I know this because one day I blushed when they were picking on me and they took it as a sign of a crush and told everyone who then mocked me.).
I mean, this person is really nice, I’m sure she’ll be as gentle as possible if she doesn’t want to. It’s just when people say “the worst that can happen is they say ‘no’” kind of forces me to be pedantic as a form of learned self defense.
If those memories are still that vivid for you and still have that much of an influence on how you respond to situations today, discussing things with a therapist might be an appropriate response. It tends to be something of a stereotype that therapist want to talk about your childhood, but by the same token, I think we tend to suppress childhood traumas and underestimate the effects that they can have on our lives. Actually, ‘underestimate’ probably isn’t even accurate since I think in most cases we aren’t even aware of the influences until we are made to be aware of them. It sounds like you at least have some conscious awareness so you would be off to a head start and it should be that much easier for you. 
I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten as far as I can with therapists. It always turns into a conversation of:
“I think/feel/have experienced this”
“Well, that’s silly, because of logic”
“Yes… I’m aware of this. Mental illness? Not logical”
“Just tell yourself that it’s silly when it happens.”
“Er… I do… it’s a panic attack, logic dies.”
“But isn’t it silly? It’s like being afraid a plane is going to crash onto us right now. It’s so unlikely.”
“Yes, I think we have, indeed, established that my irrational thoughts are silly and illogical.”
“Have you tried holding your breath and counting to 10 while telling yourself that it’s silly?”
“Uh… yes, I believe I have, considering this has been a staple of every therapy I’ve had since 6th grade”
“But… it’s just so silly. And deep breaths!”
“Uh… any other advice?”
“Well, son, it seems like I can’t really help you much more. I think it’s up to you to go out and just try and make friends on your own, it’s the only way you’ll get better now.”
“… Thanks”
There are different types of therapists you know. If you’re going to behavioral therapists they’re going to want to work on the behaviors. That’s not what I’m talking about. You might want to look into the different types.
Have been phenomenally stupid today. First I missed a deadline for a project. Then I walked out of my apartment without my driver’s license and credit card and had no way to pay for my groceries. (I had my checkbook but they wouldn’t take a check without ID.)
I keep telling myself that I deserve to have a terrible life because I keep making stupid mistakes.
I am very worried about my future. Eventually, every one of my stupid mistakes are going to add up and bite me in the ass. And then when I go crawling to someone to beg them to help me, they’ll just tell me I’m too stupid and greedy to deserve help. They’ll remind me I deserve to suffer for making those stupid mistakes in the first place.
I feel so childishly upset about this and I have to tell someone.
So, I’ve been struggling with depression for about 20 years, and it’s gotten worse in the past 2. I used to be very creative – made visual art (painting, drawing, folk art), wrote and played music, wrote fiction and poetry – but I haven’t had the will, energy, or attention span to do any of that for years (at least 3). When I was younger, my depression made me feel emotionally sad and weepy, but now it manifests mostly as a lack of attention span, anhedonia, insomnia, and lack of energy. I hardly have the attention span to read anymore. (I’ve resisted going to a therapist, probably because I’m an idiot, but also because I’m afraid of it for some reason.)
But this morning, I woke up feeling terrific. I didn’t have to go to work today, and although I didn’t sleep any better than usual, I woke up with a ton of energy and feeling in a great mood. For some reason, I decided to dig out the journal I had kept during the mentally-healthiest years of my life, and I read through it and began to feel energized by all the great memories from that time (and reading all the psychological insights I had achieved, that I have since backslid on, but whatever – if I reached that level of wisdom 10 years ago, I can get there again, right?)
And for the first time in literally years, I felt inspired to make some art. I dug out my sketchbook and sat on my floor and started sketching, and maybe five minutes into it, the doorbell rings. It’s my aunt, come to pick up some furniture I said she could have. So I stop drawing, and start talking to her, and she looks around my apartment and begins to criticize the way I’ve decorated the place. She goes on and on, in a ridiculing tone of voice, and what she said wasn’t objectively hurtful but it got to me anyway. (She even laughed at how many books I have, like, WTF is wrong with having books? And they’re neatly on bookshelves, too!) She also laughed at me for being in my pajamas and what they looked like (old band t-shirt and cotton bottoms). Hey, it’s my day off, I’m single and don’t have to look hot for anyone, and if I want to stay in pajamas all day I’ll do it.
So whatever, she left. Her criticisms were dumb and I can brush them off. But now I don’t want to draw anymore, I just don’t feel like it, and I’m so upset because this was the first day in at least 3 years that I felt like I was myself again and felt inspired to make art. And now it’s gone, and I’m so frustrated I want to cry.
It came back. I’ve been drawing for the past two hours.
Also, now I know what Coleridge felt like when he was interrupted while writing “Kubla Kahn.”
**gallows fodder: ** That’s a great example of developing what I call a ‘fuck you’ attitude toward people who don’t understand our situation, make no effort to understand and are too simple minded to ever be capable of understanding. I know that sounds harsh and I suppose it is, but at some point one has to learn to rear up one’s hind legs and fight back.
Of course once you learn to do that, it can be so liberating that you go too far in the opposite direction and that is a danger that one also needs to guard against. But I think in the greater scheme of things, it’s better for one’s mental health to lean more towards being an asshole than a victim.
There have been studies that bear this sort of thinking out by the way. When schizophrenics are given the opportunity to visualize the voices that they hear and stand up for themselves, it significantly helps them to deal with their hallucinations.
Well, so… guess that alleviates part of my situation. My husband broke up with me this evening.
This just sucks.
I’ve been depressed for twenty years, anxiety has always added fuel to the fire. After a suicide attempt last Spring I tried to go back to work (after five weeks off and spent the last three weeks doing electro convulsive therapy) and found myself suicidal again when I went back to work - so I quit.
There was a honeymoon period (I’ve had tremendous support) but now I’m faced with the reality that I have to sort things out. I will NEVER go back to being an architect but being 55 years old, I don’t have many options anyway. Eventually, I imagine a job as a receptionist - that’s what I can handle.
I’m applying for disability because I’m clearly still a mess. It’s hard. Honestly, I don’t feel like I can work in the near future but I can’t give a good reason other than I’m still depressed and extremely anxious. This makes me even more depressed and anxious because my disability clam is languishing and at the same time I feel guilty about not working.
Full disclosure: I received short term benefits but only after 2 1/2 months of wrangling - I give myself credit for getting through that nightmare. Now I’m asking for long term benefits while I sort myself out.
My heart goes out to all of you. God, depression just blows. My husband and I were talking about it yesterday, about how much it sucks to live with someone who has depression. He wasn’t trying to make me feel bad and I wasn’t depressed at the time, it was more of a matter-of-fact conversation.
I feel like I’ve been a basket case lately. I have gone to work, but I haven’t done actual work at all so far this week. I’ve had insomnia the last two nights. I don’t know why. Well, I do know why. We’re in a shitty goddamn situation that we can’t change. I have 1.5 months to find a new job, and it will probably involve commuting into NYC. My boss is leaving for three weeks this month and I will be literally the only person in the office for much of the time. Also, next week I have to go into the office all 5 days - keep in mind my commute lately has been around 3.5-4 hours roundtrip. Usually two days in a row wears me out; 5 is going to be killer.
Internship applications for my husband are just around the corner, and we will go through this grueling process for the third time. Will he not find a placement this year either? We have no idea what is going to happen. We just want to move back to the Midwest, settle down and adopt children, but that is so far away right now as to seem like a pipe dream.
And my job prospects are really starting to suffer because of it. I found a dream job that would have been great for my career - they loved me, I loved them, but they needed a 2 year commitment and I could not give them that, because I have no idea if and where we’re moving next year. What is it going to look like to have three or four jobs where I only worked a year at each place - all in different states? We had no idea that my husband getting his Ph.D. was going to be like this. We thought it would be four years of hard work. Instead it has been six years of hell. And honestly we both never realized the toll it would also take on my career.
I’m so pissed and disappointed I had to walk away from that job, and every other job prospect out there seems impossible by comparison.
Although this is probably the lesser of the various issues, it’s the only one I can offer some help with. If you can take the train into the city, that can be very relaxing. I used to enjoy that part of my day especially since I had some flexibility with the hours and could take the last rush hour train that got me into work by 10am. The part that sucks is navigating the pissway system if where you need to go is too far to walk. That can make Dante’s 9th circle look like a garden spot.
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Although this is probably the lesser of the various issues, it’s the only one I can offer some help with. If you can take the train into the city, that can be very relaxing.
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I have a mild phobia about driving - I loathe driving and flat out refuse to drive into / around Boston but on the rare occasion when have to, it actually helps me because I accomplish something outside my comfort zone. Not that I want to do it again. I travel by commuter rail and subway when I go into ‘the city’.
My friends accept my driving phobia as a ‘quirck’ and indulge me by doing the driving when we go out. I do drive, just the minimum I can get away with.
Wow, I thought I had responded to this days ago but I guess I never hit “submit”. :smack:
Thanks for this (and you weren’t harsh at all) – I’m slowly learning to let this kind of criticism roll off my back, especially with people like my aunt who I know with 100% confidence are just trying to get under my skin. It’s really, really hard for me to stand up for myself in general (but not for other people – funny how that works).
On another note – So I’ve realized that, hey, there may be something to this complete inability to focus on my work or my hobbies or TV or movies or a conversation or a book or playing with my cat or anything, and maybe it’s not just depression. I’ve read about women with ADD and I seem to fit their description of symptoms pretty closely, so I called up my doctor yesterday and got a referral, and today I made an appointment with a neuropsychiatrist at the end of August to be tested for ADD.
So, after my break-up on Friday, I’ve had a really weird few days. Saturday and Sunday I mostly just moped around the house, and gave myself permission to be unhappy. Monday was back at work, however, and since I’ve recently gotten a promotion, I have to be firing on all cylinders.
It’s been a mixed bag the past few days - I’m doing fine at work, but I have a lot of trouble focusing when I’m at home. Being alone with my thoughts is… annoying.
I did manage to make it to MMA class last night - the first time I saw my husband since we broke up. I gave up fencing to him, I don’t want to give up MMA, too. The instructor is one of my very close friends, and I mentioned to him beforehand that it might be a good night for drills and heavy work, as opposed to theory and slowed down technique. He brought the heavy dummy and rotated us through several different types of full-force drills. He was also very thoughtful on how to do partners and rotated in such a way as to keep my husband and I separate. He and I didn’t speak until then end, and what we said was congenial - I had worked the dummy WAY too hard, and split open my knuckles as well as injured something that was making my hand swell (I hadn’t actually been in pain, either. Adrenaline, I suppose). He told me he’d had a similar injury before and recommended ice and anti-inflammatories.
Over the last few days, though, the thing that’s really weirded me out has been my lack of suicidal thoughts. Like, I almost feel like there’s something missing, because I’m upset and stressed, but I don’t have to talk myself out of suicide. Like, always, that’s just been an options that’s been there on the back burner, and now it’s not really something on the table of options and possibilities. It kind of disturbs me to know that I had been depressed for so long that the idea of NOT being depressed is weird.
I’m not really sure if this is appropriate for this thread, but this is my experience.
I spent two to three years planning my own suicide every day, every hour of every day in fact. Not just thinking about it, but seriously planning it. Open casket or not, what would be the fastest most painless death without causing too much grief for my family.
I was fortunate enough to get some meds, Lexapro, and probably three others. My scripts ran out eventually and I experienced a small level of comfort from them.
I’m not sure at all what caused it, but my depression disappeared completely. It can happen . It did. There is hope beyond what you might see as the only options.
Barring a miracle, we’re losing the house.
Now I only have 99 problems.
I had a wonderful day at school. Nailed my assignments. Had some good conversations with others. The whole shebang.
Then I ate something I shouldn’t have.
That was all it took for the whole day to be ruined.
I tried to justify it that I needed the calories because I was driving a lot and I needed to eat something to focus better on the road. The truth is, I was hungry and I wanted to eat.
The ED voice is going full force. *You’re a disgusting human being. You’re lazy. You’re greedy. You’re a failure. A true anorexic would get along just fine on nothing. And she’ll have a much better future than you because she has willpower and you don’t. *
Now I’ve got to call my mom and pretend I’m not an absolute, irredeemable failure.
I know full well that forceful reassurance doesn’t change anything, especially over the internet, but Renifer, a true anorexic can barely stand and grows fuzzy hair everywhere because her body is desperately trying to keep her warm without calories.
Having a snack to keep you alert on the road is not failure. It’s responsible driving. If your mother supports and encourages your eating disorder, she is not helping you.
If nothing else, you named three good things that happened today, followed by one bad. That’s a 75% success rate, right?