Depression Learning

dammitdammitdammit (rant. language.)

Question:

The following post contains a rant and some  language. S P O I L E R S P O I L E R S P O I L E R *fuck you*  You took a whole fucking year and a half away from me and you fucking knew I was fucking depressed.  I fucking _said_ that to you.  I told you not to get involved with me if you couldn’t handle the fact that my brain works like this and that I have a lot of things in my past that I never dealt with right.  You fucking knew I had lost close to 30 friends you fucking knew my dad, my hero, died on my 17th birthday, you fucking knew that I could be brought to tears easily. *fuck you* What did want?  Someone to fuck for a while? Someone to help you figure out San Francisco because you’d just moved here?  Why did you toy with me?  Why did you take me shopping for rings and why did you speak in terms of "as we grow old together"? Then, when I was thoroughly sucked in, why did you suddenly turn on me whenever I cried?  Why did you berate me for crying?  For being depressed?  Why were you never there for me to lean on but Oh God did you ever lean on me.  You needed me, your every action spoke that. But then you felt so ashamed for needing me that you pushed me away. When I was ill you made me go away.  When I was sad, you made me go away.  You used to tell me, "I think I’m using you"  How the hell am I supposed to reply to that?  I thought that was your _depression_ talking.  I was FUCKING there for you.  I was RIGHT there when you wanted to kill yourself and I took care of you when you were ill and I let you call all the fucking shots.  I thought I was investing in a future but I was just feeding my own fucking illness. I was just allowing myself to settle for crumbs because HELL if I had ever gotten anymore than that to begin with from anyone.  But you saw the whole time and you let it go on, too.  Now, you know the City well, you’ve made your friends, your job got better because of the work you put into it, work which I helped you with and encouraged you for…. Now you don’t want to talk to me.  I’m too much.  Too depressed.  Too dependant.  Too fucked up.  Yep.  That’s me.  Been fucked up, WAS fucked up… why did I trust you?  WHY DID I TRUST YOU?  I _know_ that I’m obsessing.  I _know_ that you probably have NO problem at all going to see a movie today and I _fall_ apart at the thought of it.  I fall apart over every single damn reminder of you. Hot cocoa.  Popcorn, no butter at the flick.  Fueling up at the Chevron in your white pick-up. Picking up groceries at Rainbow. Watching Seinfeld at 7.  Playing Twisted Metal.  Listening to Alice in Chains.  I can’t listen to any music.  All of it reminds me of you. Bagels with hummus.  Pad thai.  Lazy Fridays, your day off, napping. The Sunday paper.  BBQ’s with fresh ears of corn and Portobella mushrooms.  Apple cider.  Football on Sundays.  I can’t even handle reading about our team because it reminds me of you.  Walking my dogs on the fucking beach!  You LOVED to do that when we first met until it became such a drag for you.  Those are my boys, those are my life some days and you think they’re just a drag.   FUCK!!!  Everything.  There isn’t anything that is mine anymore because I shared it all with you and you fucking ditched me AFTER you sucked everything out of me.  AND you won’t even BOTHER trying to communicate.  "It’s too much work.  I just want to have fun." FUCK YOU.  We had fun but life is more than fun.  I’m fucking What did you think I meant when I said, "Please don’t get involved with me if you’re not serious."  What the hell did you think I meant when I said I SUFFERED from DEPRESSION and that I have a lot of And in a week and a half I’m just supposed to receive your phone call and act so cool and be happy to hear your voice? AND THE FUCKED PART IS THAT I’M SO FUCKED UP THAT ALL I WANT IS TO HEAR YOUR VOICE.  I am getting even more depressed because I realize that I still want you and would jump in your arms in a heartbeat if I thought that you’d be there. *FUCK YOU OR FUCK ME* either way it hurts. Cris Stoddard munged headers in post to avoid UCE, to reply via email, remove FALALALALALALA from address… or send to: zyrc AT msn DOT com

Response:

((((((Cris)))))) i wish i knew something which would make you feel better….of all the moods i go through..anger is by far my most dreaded.  i feel like someone has tied my arms and legs together and im so caught up i cant move and the more i try and move the more tense i get till i feel like im gonna explode or implode..and my brain will get sucked inside through my neck and end up coming outta my feet or sumfin….and ill be turned completely inside out and still ill have this pain in my shoulders like my head is just too heavy for my body I hope your ex treats you a with a lil more understanding if she does ring you in a week and a half. Sykee – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – The following post contains a rant and some  language. S P O I L E R S P O I L E R S P O I L E R *fuck you*  You took a whole fucking year and a half away from me and you fucking knew I was fucking depressed.  I fucking _said_ that to you.  I told you not to get involved with me if you couldn’t handle the fact that my brain works like this and that I have a lot of things in my past that I never dealt with right.  You fucking knew I had lost close to 30 friends you fucking knew my dad, my hero, died on my 17th birthday, you fucking knew that I could be brought to tears easily. *fuck you* What did want?  Someone to fuck for a while? Someone to help you figure out San Francisco because you’d just moved here?  Why did you toy with me?  Why did you take me shopping for rings and why did you speak in terms of "as we grow old together"? Then, when I was thoroughly sucked in, why did you suddenly turn on me whenever I cried?  Why did you berate me for crying?  For being depressed?  Why were you never there for me to lean on but Oh God did you ever lean on me.  You needed me, your every action spoke that. But then you felt so ashamed for needing me that you pushed me away. When I was ill you made me go away.  When I was sad, you made me go away.  You used to tell me, "I think I’m using you"  How the hell am I supposed to reply to that?  I thought that was your _depression_ talking.  I was FUCKING there for you.  I was RIGHT there when you wanted to kill yourself and I took care of you when you were ill and I let you call all the fucking shots.  I thought I was investing in a future but I was just feeding my own fucking illness. I was just allowing myself to settle for crumbs because HELL if I had ever gotten anymore than that to begin with from anyone.  But you saw the whole time and you let it go on, too.  Now, you know the City well, you’ve made your friends, your job got better because of the work you put into it, work which I helped you with and encouraged you for…. Now you don’t want to talk to me.  I’m too much.  Too depressed.  Too dependant.  Too fucked up.  Yep.  That’s me.  Been fucked up, WAS fucked up… why did I trust you?  WHY DID I TRUST YOU?  I _know_ that I’m obsessing.  I _know_ that you probably have NO problem at all going to see a movie today and I _fall_ apart at the thought of it.  I fall apart over every single damn reminder of you. Hot cocoa.  Popcorn, no butter at the flick.  Fueling up at the Chevron in your white pick-up. Picking up groceries at Rainbow. Watching Seinfeld at 7.  Playing Twisted Metal.  Listening to Alice in Chains.  I can’t listen to any music.  All of it reminds me of you. Bagels with hummus.  Pad thai.  Lazy Fridays, your day off, napping. The Sunday paper.  BBQ’s with fresh ears of corn and Portobella mushrooms.  Apple cider.  Football on Sundays.  I can’t even handle reading about our team because it reminds me of you.  Walking my dogs on the fucking beach!  You LOVED to do that when we first met until it became such a drag for you.  Those are my boys, those are my life some days and you think they’re just a drag. FUCK!!!  Everything.  There isn’t anything that is mine anymore because I shared it all with you and you fucking ditched me AFTER you sucked everything out of me.  AND you won’t even BOTHER trying to communicate.  "It’s too much work.  I just want to have fun." FUCK YOU.  We had fun but life is more than fun.  I’m fucking What did you think I meant when I said, "Please don’t get involved with me if you’re not serious."  What the hell did you think I meant when I said I SUFFERED from DEPRESSION and that I have a lot of And in a week and a half I’m just supposed to receive your phone call and act so cool and be happy to hear your voice? AND THE FUCKED PART IS THAT I’M SO FUCKED UP THAT ALL I WANT IS TO HEAR YOUR VOICE.  I am getting even more depressed because I realize that I still want you and would jump in your arms in a heartbeat if I thought that you’d be there. *FUCK YOU OR FUCK ME* either way it hurts. Cris Stoddard munged headers in post to avoid UCE, to reply via email, remove FALALALALALALA from address… or send to: zyrc AT msn DOT com

Response:

chris i dont what to say except i m sorry for your heart, im sorry formine. lets rty anotherday?ok.  bill 9(((((((((chris))))))))))) – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – The following post contains a rant and some  language. S P O I L E R S P O I L E R S P O I L E R *fuck you*  You took a whole fucking year and a half away from me and you fucking knew I was fucking depressed.  I fucking _said_ that to you.  I told you not to get involved with me if you couldn’t handle the fact that my brain works like this and that I have a lot of things in my past that I never dealt with right.  You fucking knew I had lost close to 30 friends you fucking knew my dad, my hero, died on my 17th birthday, you fucking knew that I could be brought to tears easily. *fuck you* What did want?  Someone to fuck for a while? Someone to help you figure out San Francisco because you’d just moved here?  Why did you toy with me?  Why did you take me shopping for rings and why did you speak in terms of "as we grow old together"? Then, when I was thoroughly sucked in, why did you suddenly turn on me whenever I cried?  Why did you berate me for crying?  For being depressed?  Why were you never there for me to lean on but Oh God did you ever lean on me.  You needed me, your every action spoke that. But then you felt so ashamed for needing me that you pushed me away. When I was ill you made me go away.  When I was sad, you made me go away.  You used to tell me, "I think I’m using you"  How the hell am I supposed to reply to that?  I thought that was your _depression_ talking.  I was FUCKING there for you.  I was RIGHT there when you wanted to kill yourself and I took care of you when you were ill and I let you call all the fucking shots.  I thought I was investing in a future but I was just feeding my own fucking illness. I was just allowing myself to settle for crumbs because HELL if I had ever gotten anymore than that to begin with from anyone.  But you saw the whole time and you let it go on, too.  Now, you know the City well, you’ve made your friends, your job got better because of the work you put into it, work which I helped you with and encouraged you for…. Now you don’t want to talk to me.  I’m too much.  Too depressed.  Too dependant.  Too fucked up.  Yep.  That’s me.  Been fucked up, WAS fucked up… why did I trust you?  WHY DID I TRUST YOU?  I _know_ that I’m obsessing.  I _know_ that you probably have NO problem at all going to see a movie today and I _fall_ apart at the thought of it.  I fall apart over every single damn reminder of you. Hot cocoa.  Popcorn, no butter at the flick.  Fueling up at the Chevron in your white pick-up. Picking up groceries at Rainbow. Watching Seinfeld at 7.  Playing Twisted Metal.  Listening to Alice in Chains.  I can’t listen to any music.  All of it reminds me of you. Bagels with hummus.  Pad thai.  Lazy Fridays, your day off, napping. The Sunday paper.  BBQ’s with fresh ears of corn and Portobella mushrooms.  Apple cider.  Football on Sundays.  I can’t even handle reading about our team because it reminds me of you.  Walking my dogs on the fucking beach!  You LOVED to do that when we first met until it became such a drag for you.  Those are my boys, those are my life some days and you think they’re just a drag. FUCK!!!  Everything.  There isn’t anything that is mine anymore because I shared it all with you and you fucking ditched me AFTER you sucked everything out of me.  AND you won’t even BOTHER trying to communicate.  "It’s too much work.  I just want to have fun." FUCK YOU.  We had fun but life is more than fun.  I’m fucking What did you think I meant when I said, "Please don’t get involved with me if you’re not serious."  What the hell did you think I meant when I said I SUFFERED from DEPRESSION and that I have a lot of And in a week and a half I’m just supposed to receive your phone call and act so cool and be happy to hear your voice? AND THE FUCKED PART IS THAT I’M SO FUCKED UP THAT ALL I WANT IS TO HEAR YOUR VOICE.  I am getting even more depressed because I realize that I still want you and would jump in your arms in a heartbeat if I thought that you’d be there. *FUCK YOU OR FUCK ME* either way it hurts. Cris Stoddard munged headers in post to avoid UCE, to reply via email, remove FALALALALALALA from address… or send to: zyrc AT msn DOT com

Response:

Related Depression Posts

• Interesting table
• Tiredness and Depression
• what med; can I ask tomorrow?
• Need advice from folks who know about SSRIs
• Don't know what to do–stinkin' thinkin' ahead
• Depressing day
• Margrove..Jackie..anybody..med question – help.