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Question:
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -My first memory of childhood is meeting DEATH, at the age of four, in the form of my father’s fist. Today I am 33 and my story is full of brutality, failed relationships, failed effort…Always striving to win approval from that fist…so that I may be redeemed in the eyes of God and deserve to live without pain. I haven’t been physically abused for 18 years…but it haunts me. During the last 15 years I have lost my brother, lost a child, lost three jobs in a row…I guess I have reason to be depressed…but I have been desperately trying to break free…to find reason for life…to feel that I deserve to be happy. Each day feels like a weight around my shoulders…finally I told the therapist I had been seeing for 8 months (she’s subsequently been fired) that if this was living…then I wanted out. She took my keys, wouldn’t let me pee without supervision and told me that I needed to go to the physchiatric ER. I called my mother who came and got me and I did go to the ER, because if my therapist couldn’t help me then what other option did I have? God granted me a miracle in the form of a diagnosis called Dysthymic Disorder, or more commonly known as Moderate, chronic depression. I, for the first time since I personally met DEATH, feel hope. IT HAS A NAME. IT CAN BE CURED. Perhaps now I can forgive both my father and myself and live. Wish me luck….I start new treatment on Monday. I absolutely can’t wait…
I also have Dysthymic Disorder (although this is the first time I could actually spell it ). I have been taking Zoloft for several months and am doing pretty well. No real point except, Good Luck. Hatred in the name of God is the ultimate obscenity!
Response:
My first memory of childhood is meeting DEATH, at the age of four, in the form of my father’s fist. Today I am 33 and my story is full of brutality, failed relationships, failed effort…Always striving to win approval from that fist…so that I may be redeemed in the eyes of God and deserve to live without pain. I haven’t been physically abused for 18 years…but it haunts me. During the last 15 years I have lost my brother, lost a child, lost three jobs in a row…I guess I have reason to be depressed…but I have been desperately trying to break free…to find reason for life…to feel that I deserve to be happy. Each day feels like a weight around my shoulders…finally I told the therapist I had been seeing for 8 months (she’s subsequently been fired) that if this was living…then I wanted out. She took my keys, wouldn’t let me pee without supervision and told me that I needed to go to the physchiatric ER. I called my mother who came and got me and I did go to the ER, because if my therapist couldn’t help me then what other option did I have? God granted me a miracle in the form of a diagnosis called Dysthymic Disorder, or more commonly known as Moderate, chronic depression. I, for the first time since I personally met DEATH, feel hope. IT HAS A NAME. IT CAN BE CURED. Perhaps now I can forgive both my father and myself and live. Wish me luck….I start new treatment on Monday. I absolutely can’t wait…
Response:
<. . . I’d fall asleep in the back seat of the car on the long drive home. <. . . My dad would open the car door, pick me up, and carry me into the house.
waaaah! i miss this too! Erik wishes to remind everyone that the best treatment for this variety of nostalgia is to periodically splurge on a sleeping compartment on a long train ride. Erik Martin Schneider rhetorician of sorts http://www.concentric.net/~catdoc ErikTrips on AOL instant messenger
Response:
I remember when I was a child. My parents would take me with them to visit relatives, or friends. I’d be up way past my bedtime, and get real tired. I’d fall asleep in the back seat of the car on the long drive home. When the car hit the bump into the driveway, I’d half wake up. Hear the automatic garage door opening. Garage smell. My dad would open the car door, pick me up, and carry me into the house. Into my room. My cozy bed. No effort required.
Comforting memory, thanks. Made me miss my dad a little more than usual, but it also made me smile to recall similar memories. Strange (or maybe not), but those moments when I feel like I have no sense of direction or am clueless about how to solve a problem, remembering his words and confidence in me is a great source of strength for me. Except, I really hate father’s day now. Makes me feel like an orphan. bailey
Response:
I remember when I was a child. My parents would take me with them to visit relatives, or friends. I’d be up way past my bedtime, and get real tired. I’d fall asleep in the back seat of the car on the long drive home. When the car hit the bump into the driveway, I’d half wake up. Hear the automatic garage door opening. Garage smell. My dad would open the car door, pick me up, and carry me into the house. Into my room. My cozy bed. No effort required.
No responsibility for getting your child to bed. 
nodnod. I always did two things in a car up until I started driving, too: sleep throw up My parents preferred that I sleep.
We parents are like that. But which did *you* prefer? — The opinions given above may be mine. They might also just be what I feel like saying right now, okay?
Response:
I remember when I was a child. My parents would take me with them to visit relatives, or friends. I’d be up way past my bedtime, and get real tired. I’d fall asleep in the back seat of the car on the long drive home. When the car hit the bump into the driveway, I’d half wake up. Hear the automatic garage door opening. Garage smell. My dad would open the car door, pick me up, and carry me into the house. Into my room. My cozy bed. No effort required.
Wow….what a powerful memory. So much like some of my own and I cannot stop crying. There is so much sadness in remembering what was. Remembering how simple life was then. But it also reminds me of how far I have come and how strong I really am. I am a survivor and these are tears of triumph too. I needed to remind myself that I have what it takes to continue to survive. Thank you for sharing this. Hugs! Rhiannon — "The quintessential enigma"
Response:
No effort required.
That’s probably the part I miss most. What was it Piaget said? The work of the child is play? Maybe sleep, too. cp — ** When it comes to the milk of human kindness, ** * I’m lactose intolerant. * ** Baywatch Barbie and her pet dolphin do not move by themselves **
Response:
I remember when I was a child. My parents would take me with them to visit relatives, or friends. I’d be up way past my bedtime, and get real tired. I’d fall asleep in the back seat of the car on the long drive home. When the car hit the bump into the driveway, I’d half wake up. Hear the automatic garage door opening. Garage smell. My dad would open the car door, pick me up, and carry me into the house. Into my room. My cozy bed. No effort required. — trevor "ratgirl" pratt "Nobody told me there’d be days like these." John Lennon
Response:
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