Tag Archives: Social Phobia


Imagine you have had severe anxiety from a young age. You taught yourself not to make eye contact, to look at the ground while walking, used baggy clothes and long hair to try to be invisible. You felt more comfortable in long sleeved hoodies where you could pull sleeves over your hands because it made you feel safe. Imagine feeling nauseous 24/7 and throwing up or dry heaving daily. This started at 9 years old.

You discover something that makes it all go away. Alcohol. The thing is alcohol didn’t work on you the way it did on everyone else. Alcohol is usually a depressant but the majority of the times you drink you’re hyper, impulsive, talk fast, promiscuous, and stay up all night. You don’t think it’s odd because you don’t know anything else. But when the hardcore alcoholics you hang out with comment on it you start to wonder.

Eventually you aren’t the happy, hyper, drunk anymore. Events and circumstances change. Depression starts to creep in while you’re drinking. So does jealousy and anger. This leads to more negative events that change you dramatically.

When things get to a point where you’re given an ultimatum, a 12 Step Program or being homeless, you agree to the 12 Step Program. You shouldn’t have.

You had been to a few Psychiatrists who diagnosed you with Social Phobia/Social Anxiety Disorder and put you on medication that wasn’t exactly working.

You’re forced to meet a person you don’t know and agree to make her your Sponsor. She goes to meetings 3 times a day. The first meeting you have to go to is a large open meeting where everyone knew each other. There were about 70 people and believe me people noticed when I walked in.

When a thrust a person with Social Anxiety into a group setting where they don’t know anyone, they’re there for something they feel ashamed of, and they also have PTSD but haven’t been diagnosed yet, it isn’t a great experience.

When you then force that person to get up and speak in front of everyone it causes harm. I hated it, I never wanted to go back, I disliked the people, I disliked the several comments made when a few men noticed the scars on my wrists, I hated that they monitored what you could and could not say at an open meeting, I hated that my sponsor wanted me to go to 3 meetings a day while working 50 hours a week and taking care of my Mom who had been diagnosed with Lung Cancer. My sponsor’s response was “You found time to drink didn’t you?”

I didn’t drink like other people. I never drank during the day. I always drank from 4-5 pm to around 1 am on work night and later if I had the next day off. I never drank alone. I know this doesn’t matter, I’m still an alcoholic. But everyone is different in their patterns and behaviors.

The worse part were the comments about not really being “sober” if you’re on medication. I knew this was directed at me. Every meeting someone brought it up. How antidepressants were a crutch and a substitute for alcohol. I think I have permanent scars on the inside of my mouth from biting my cheeks and tongue.

I never felt like I could be honest at meetings. The stress was overwhelming. When my sponsor had us go to a meeting for a group of male convicts to speak that was it. I lost it. I told her I couldn’t do it. She told me I better get on my knees and pray because I bound to fail and go to Hell. When it comes to religion and anyone telling me I’m going to Hell or to pray it’s like waiving a red flag in front of a bull.

Things didn’t end well. I refused to put myself in a room where I might run into someone I used to drink with, someone who hurt me physically and mentally. I was right not to because there were 2 men in there that I did know. If they had seen me or I them I would’ve had a breakdown or worse.

People with mental illness and addiction have to be treated in a different way. 

I don’t believe a person with mental illness who is self medicating with drugs/alcohol should be thrown into a regular 12 step meeting. It isn’t going to work. We need more than that.

I’m more sensitive to the concept of shame. Shame actually had a lot to do with my failing to stay sober. When I was able to take shame out of the equation I was able to achieve sobriety. Too much importance is put on “How many days do you have?” or “What is your sober date?” First of all I have damage to my brain and don’t remember my sober date or how many days. 

Second, keeping track like that is setting yourself up for failure. Life isn’t about numbers unless you’re an accountant. Everyone makes mistakes. It’s what you’re intent was/is when you made them that matters.


Therapy is beneficial to many people in many ways. When it isn’t beneficial is when it’s used to justify hurtful things you say to people.

My twin sister has a habit of doing this often.

She has told me recently that my Dad never really wanted to spend the time with me that he did, he felt he had to because he was afraid I would hurt myself or drink. She also said he never liked the movies or TV shows that I forced him to watch.

I felt sick, sad, guilty, angry, lost, and alone. Most of this is probably true. Which leaves me feeling how I used to years ago. Worthless and unwanted.

Physically something is going on that I don’t really want to deal with. I’m tired of all of it.

I don’t want to be growled at anymore for speaking. I don’t want to repeat myself 5 times when I have trouble talking. I don’t want to beg people to talk to me or like me, it hurts too much.

I need my stents changed but I’m afraid I won’t come out of the anesthesia. I’m worse than I’ve ever been and the doctors have already been concerned about this happening.

The reason anesthesia is a safe place for me is because it’s the same each time. It’s a sunny, happy place with loved ones I can’t be with.

I tired of feeling this way but it’s difficult when the physical is connected to the mental and vice versa. I keep going but it isn’t living.

I have to say I enjoy when my brother in law comes home from therapy and says “My therapist told me…..” and will be the opposite of what my sister believes or wants him to do. She get’s so pissed she actually calls me directly to complain.

Family, what can you do?


When you’re a person that has always been afraid conflict you have a tendency to push down any anger of your own. You don’t defend yourself often and stay quiet. Eventually this catches up to you.

I used to have a problem once in awhile, usually while drinking, but it tapered off as I got older. Except I find in the last year I’m having more periods of rage. Times where I want to throw something, punch a wall, and scream until I lose my voice. I can’t always tell the difference between rage and pain.

My sister has refused to have contact with me since Saturday which is unusual for us. We usually don’t go more than 3 days without at least a text because I stalk her with texts. This time I’m not. I’m not begging for my twin sister to like me.

My Dad’s hearing has either gotten extremely worse or he’s pretending it is because when I talk to him he acts like he can’t hear me until I throw something at him.

I hate repeating myself because my voice isn’t strong it never has been. I’ve had a sore throat for months now and I have trouble remembering words most times. If I start to get stressed then I start to stutter which makes it all worse. So I don’t bother anymore. I sit by myself everyday, I only talk out loud to the dogs sometimes.

The bad thing about this is when I have to go out in public and talk to someone. I feel like I’ve lost the ability for conversation. My throat feels rusty. I worry I’m making a fool of myself. Then I stay home more and more.

I just tried talking to my Dad about something on the news. One minute in I notice he isn’t looking at me and his eyes are blank. It’s like I’m not there, I’m invisible, what I was told by other people in that one moment is all true. I don’t matter, no one will ever love me, I’m a waste of space, ugly, nothing, I don’t deserve to live. The hamster wheel starts with all of these thoughts and the voices that went with them.

You can heal physically, for the most part I did. Emotionally I have never healed from my past. When I think of when I was locked in a bathroom not allowed out until I cut my wrist while they stood on the other side of the door taunting me I want to vomit. I allowed that and maybe I deserved it. If my own family can’t be around me than maybe I am that bad.

I feel like I want my Mom and I want to go home but I’m already home. So I’ll wait it out because I know it’s temporary or at least I hope it is.Klimt-Crying-Woman



As you may or may not know, I do not take criticism well. That pertains to everything. If I’m not washing a dish the way someone thinks I should be and says so I will get emotional. If I get “notes” on what a “Post” should look like versus a “Page” or a “Blog” or “Journal” or the “About” section, I don’t get emotional I become pissed.

None of us are perfect. I’m not here looking for a book deal like some people are. I don’t want an award or a mention in a magazine. All I want is to know that there are people similar to me in the Universe. I want to know that I’m NOT ALONE.  Because without that there is no point. I’ll just talk more to my Chihuahua. It’s messier when I talk to him because he constantly wants to lick my pain away. (And he eats poop)

Back to my friend Criticism. Do you know which class I always hated the most throughout my school history? Art Class. I remember in Grade School having a teacher who looked like the host of Dance Fever, Deney Terrio. He made me nervous. I can’t even draw a stick person correctly. I can’t draw a straight line with a ruler! I believe I spent most of my time in the nurse’s office.

In Junior High we moved on to Clay. When the teacher asked us to mold something out of clay I turned in a…….ball of clay. My twin sister on the other hand was winning Art competitions. She was also writing short stories that the teachers loved. This only bothered me because my dad is artistic. He used to do charcoal sketches, oil paintings, beautiful wrought iron welding, he even did our landscaping artistically. My mom could sing and dance. I could do none of these things.

I had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that I wasn’t creative or imaginative at all. My mind just went blank and I would freeze when asked for creative ideas.

I have now realized what the problem was. I was always surrounded by people and put on the spot. I found that when I was alone I could be creative in my own way. While working at a jewelry factory for years I forgot that when I was alone I would put together my own jewelry with spare parts. I started doing jewelry at the age of 10/11. My mom would bring it home with her and she taught me how to help. I liked anything repetitious where I didn’t have to talk or think. Linking, carding, looping, accomplishes that. Designing is a whole different ballgame.

I never showed anyone the jewelry I made until much later in life. I’m talking a few years ago. I was going to try to sell some of it but always somehow managed to give it away for free. I always felt “Who do I think I am charging people for something I made?“. I couldn’t hear the compliments or positive feedback.

The one person that sold my jewelry and believed in me was a young girl I was going to for my hair. I had become too weak to hold my hands above my head to color my own hair. I always felt better around her. She was that kind of person. I gave her some of my jewelry that she liked. She asked if I would mind if she tried to sell some my jewelry because her clients had asked about it. I gave her permission to handle everything.

I always underestimated myself. Where I would’ve asked $10 for a necklace she asked between $30-$50 depending on the amount of Swarovski Crystals used and how much time she estimated it had taken me to make the piece. She sold quite a few. I cried in my car of course when she gave me the money and told me what she had done. She also received a gigantic tip that day.

I had to stop making jewelry because of my vision and my hands shaking. The vision is due to my kidney failure.

I have learned these past few years that I’m creative in different ways. I am good at looking at someone and seeing what color hair would bring out their features. I can visualize a hair cut and make up palette. I’m good at putting together outfits. I can spot artistic talent that other people dismiss with one glance. I think outside the box and because I find beauty in the darkest of places I find the unique. Most of it sounds superficial. To me it isn’t. It’s the little things that help me continue.





There seems to be an odd trait I’ve noticed lately. I could be reading a research paper, a Psychiatric magazine or another Blog and there is a separation between Addiction and Alcoholism.

I started to think about it myself. When people used to speak to me and would say “So and so is an addict they’re in rehab.” I immediately thought drugs not alcohol. When someone says they have “addiction” problems I first think of drugs. When did the word “addict” become the symbol for drug user?

An addict is “one who has become dependent on something”, whether it’s drugs, food, alcohol, sex, gambling, or TV. The word “addict” is now spit out like some foul tasting seafood when it’s uttered. That needs to change.

That was the first part of my writing the second part is about my functioning level. I have to say it has gone down. Way down. It isn’t just the Bipolar Disorder, the Conversion Disorder is becoming worse also. I have no idea how to drag myself out of it. I was told it would get worse over time but I thought they meant in 15 to 20 years. My Psychiatrist is pushing for ECT again and I’m not sure I can handle it.

My state of mind as it is right now would be unable to handle ECT. I have been under so much anesthesia in the last year and a half to then put me under and try to Reboot my brain I’m petrified of the outcome. I don’t want to sit there drooling, staring at the wall for hours and hours while someone changes my diaper. But what if all of my pain, all of my anger, all of my guilt, went away while I sat there? I could still hear my dad’s voice and my sister’s but I wouldn’t have to feel.

I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t want any of this.

The memory of some human beings is short when it comes to negative experiences. Mine is never ending.

My father doesn’t remember my going to Therapy when I was younger. I had to remind him. It wasn’t pleasant, I didn’t want to. He was starting to think like my sister and I wasn’t having it.

I said “The end of my being 17 I took pills and had to have my stomach pumped, I was also drunk. I was ordered to therapy in Wakefield.” “About 2 years later I took pills again and had to swallow the charcoal. I was ordered to therapy in South Kingstown.” “A year later I cut my wrists and had stitches. I was held in their Psychiatric Ward for a week and ordered to go to therapy in Wakefield again but at a different place.” “A few years after that I took a bat to J’s car and was arrested. I was ordered to one and half years of therapy, 2 years probation, a restraining order, I had to pay for damages, and a partridge in a pear tree.” I knew by this time he had tuned me out because he didn’t want to remember. I remember. I remember his face when he first saw me at the Psychiatric Ward. It killed me as much as it killed him. But I couldn’t stop. The pain inside was always greater than the pain outside.

FROM THE BEGINNING (Alcohol to Mental Illness. From The Cradle to Junior High)

I have decided to start my story from when it all began. I need everything to make sense to me. None of it is lately. I’ve had a lot of confusion and memory gaps. I have to keep a dictionary and thesaurus next to me at all times. I have trouble remembering peoples names that at one time I had no problem spitting out. I don’t like it.


My parents had known each other in grade school. My mother had a crush on my dad. Sadly they both had to quit school and wouldn’t see each other until years later in a bar. Both of my parents are alcoholics. My father has been sober 35 years. My mom passed away several years ago but had been sober 28 years at the time of her death.

Mental Illness and Alcoholism is prominent on my mom’s side of the family. 2 Alcoholic Uncles, 1 Schizophrenic, IV Drug addicted Uncle. 1 Alcoholic Aunt, My mom and 1 other sister suffered from Depression, my mom an Alcoholic, 1 more Aunt an Alcoholic and the last Aunt Schizophrenic. My Grandmother was something but the words I would use wouldn’t be polite. She did drink and personally I thought she was more than Mentally Ill. How my mom survived that woman I’ll never know. Almost all of her siblings fled at an early age. My mom was the oldest and stayed in the State. As years went by she felt responsible for her mother. If I could go back in time, grow a spine and speak up for my mom maybe things would’ve been different. But I know my dad didn’t sit back and watch so it must have fell on deaf ears. My mom could be stubborn when it came to family. I was lucky she was.

So my parents met again in a bar. It wasn’t love at first sight it more like Fatal Attraction. My mom chased my dad until he gave up. He says it was the best decision of his life. He was petrified when he learned she was pregnant and went away for awhile. He came back just in time for our delivery. My mother didn’t know she was having twins. It was January 1973. We were one right behind the other so the Doctor was only hearing one heartbeat. It was actually 2 that were in sync with one another. I wish my sister thought about that now.

When I was a baby/toddler I moved around a lot in my crib. I also had bloody noses frequently. My crib was one of those extra safe ones with wheels that didn’t quite lock in place. At some point I had begun to bang my head on the mattress of the crib as a soothing mechanism. When my parents would wake up in the morning they would come in to find my crib across the room.

They went out on a much needed date one night leaving me, my twin sister, and my seven year old brother with a babysitter. They forgot to tell the babysitter about my bloody noses or head banging crib moving. The babysitter walked into what looked like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. My crib across the room, blood all over the walls, and blood all over me. She did the logical thing and called the police. My poor parents came home to a swarm of police cars thinking the worse had happened. Nope. Just me and my “quirky” behavior.

I continued to bang or bounce my head for years. I also continued to get nose bleeds. I had my nose cauterized 3 or 4 times. If you don’t know what that is it’s like in movies when they would amputate then use fire to stop the bleeding. In my circumstance it was a chemical equivalent that burned the vessels in my sinus cavity to stop the bleeding. I would say it was uncomfortable. They took out my Adenoids and Tonsils thinking it would help. I was the oldest one having their tonsils out and of course something went wrong. I spiked a fever and started vomiting. This caused my stitches to tear so I had to stay longer.

My twin always looked at me with contempt or disgust when I had a nosebleed. I had no control over them. Sometimes all it took was the hot water hitting my head in the shower. I never knew when it was going to happen. The bouncing I could understand. I also would rock side to side while standing. I never felt comfortable no matter where I was. I had many soothing mechanisms. While sitting one leg was going up and down like a jackhammer. Hardly anyone noticed through the years what a big bundle of crazy nerves and self hate I was.

I really don’t know how so many people could’ve missed it. Teachers, Guidance Counselors, Parents, Relatives and even my own twin never could see me slowly dying day by day. A six hour school day was like thirteen hours to me. There was no place where I found joy or relief. I couldn’t even look to my sister for help. She had made it clear by the time we were in Junior High that I was on my own.

Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, Easter, and my own Birthday I would sneak away to my room to read. If I was reading I was in another world and not in mine. If anyone asked why I wasn’t joining in I said I “didn’t feel well”. I was the sickest kid in family history. As I became a little older things started to change. Around 12/13 I became irritable, spiteful, I would talk too much and read all night not sleeping. My parents always let us drink soda. But they started to ask me how much of it I had been drinking and if I was drinking coffee too. Someone suggested to my mom that it was “hormones”. Nope. I was an early bloomer making things more difficult. I had my period by age 10. I was a size 36 C by age 11. ( I apologize to the men reading. ) So in my expert opinion hormones were not it.

Someone recently asked if I felt resentful because I hadn’t been diagnosed earlier. What’s the point? It doesn’t change anything. Would I like to speak to some of the so called experts and tell them what it’s cost me? Sometimes. There isn’t a Psychiatrist, Doctor, Nurse, Therapist, who knows what I’ve been through unless they have been through the exact same thing. It’s impossible. I don’t understand what War is like and would never presume to. I don’t understand Religious Belief and wouldn’t pretend to because I’ve studied Religion. It doesn’t work that way.

Regrettably even other people with Bipolar Disorder and Addiction think they have or know the answers. They don’t. We can only take educated guesses at the similarities in certain groups. Human brains are like snow flakes. There are no two alike.tumblr_mmzqwg1lc71s7j5pho1_500



I had my appointment with my Psychiatrist yesterday. He spent more time with me than usual because another patient had cancelled. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t great. He really thinks doing this blog helps and that my family does not help. He appeared genuinely shocked that my twin sister isn’t more involved. He thought she lived in another state these past few years. I laughed a little too loudly at that one.

I’m still in a memory purge zone so that’s what I’m going to do.

My bestfriend W who has been my only close friend now for 30 years never judged me, or said anything about my drinking. It may have been because she was usually drinking too. She could have 4 or 5 beers and stop where I wouldn’t. I had to have 15 to 20. I did everything in excess. Shopping, drinking, and eating. The Queen of Excess. It would blow her mind the amount of alcohol I would put away in a few hours. Sometimes it frightened her. I didn’t think anything of it until a guy Sean who was an alcoholic said “You know that you crack a beer, light a cigarette, crack a beer, light a cigarette, look down at the ashtray and your empties man.” I looked down. There were 7 empties and 7 smoked cigarettes. We had been there 50 minutes. I was guzzling like I was in a contest. I chose to place this thought in the back of my mind.

W started to date a guy Will. I wasn’t fond of Will. She had met him at J’s apartment. I personally thought she could do better. She was in a 4 year college, she was beautiful, smart and funny. But she thought he was cute and she loved a guy who could make her 1338828079261974laugh. He did have a good job. I wasn’t crazy about how controlling he was with her. We started to see less and less of them at J’s. I still talked to her on the phone all the time. I started to hear rumors at J’s that Will had hit W once or twice. I cut back on going to J’s and started going to Will’s apartment so I could see W.

At first things were ok. Will was actually funny. Half the time I was laughing at him. He reminded me of a shorter version of Jerry Seinfeld with a mullet. One night he drank too much and was smoking pot. He fell asleep on the couch while W and I watched a movie. He dropped the lit joint down the leg of his shorts so it went into the crotch. He started jumping up and down screaming. To me it was hysterical. I didn’t laugh in front of him. W and I waited until later. I also went out with them a few times. I noticed every time W left me alone with Will he started whining about her or saying stuff about her that I wasn’t going to listen to for long without punching him. She knew he did this when drinking and just wrote it off. I wasn’t as quick to let it go.

There were 2 incidences that played a hand in my decision to stay away from them until W decided to leave.

The first incident was at a Fight concert. Fight was Rob Halford’s  band when he left Judas Priest. It was an extremely small venue. W and Will were going and I was to meet them there. When I saw W she looked horrible. She was pale and the thinnest I’ve ever seen her. She immediately pulled me into the ladies room. “Daner I have to leave him but I don’t know how. The other night I ran from the house in my nightgown and jumped in his brother’s car. He shot out the back window. I drove to the police station. I didn’t want him arrested, I was confused and we had been drinking. When I got home all of my stuff was on fire on the front lawn.”. I was more than angry. You can say and do what you want to me but NEVER TO MY FAMILY. W was closer to me than my sister. I asked her to tell me the truth if he had ever hit her. She was looking at the floor and said “Yes” quietly while she cried. W was normally someone who didn’t show emotion, who never let a guy get to her. I told her she wasn’t leaving with him that she was coming home with me. She looked frightened. I told her I would handle Will and to stay in the bathroom. Yes I was drunk. I found Will doing his usual holding up the wall eyes rolling to the back of his head drunkenness. I always found this level of inebriation revolting. I know it’s the pot calling the kettle black. I know for a fact that no matter how much I’ve ever drank in the past I have never been like that. Loud-definitely, Annoying- definitely, Repeater- definitely but not eyes rolling , falling down, spilling my drink on everyone, drunk.

When I stood in front of Will and he finally recognized who I was he immediately started to blame W. He said stuff about her that was so crude and out of line and in a public place that I was stunned. Other people could hear him because it was intermission. He was yelling that it was like “F*cking a dead fish with her, she doesn’t love me, she doesn’t love anyone, she’s a whore, she was f*cking everyone when I first met her at J’s” after 2 minutes of this I accidentally punched him in the face. He slid down the wall and was passed out either from alcohol or something.

The problem was when I went to get W and told her what had happened she was upset. She went to see how he was. You can probably guess what happened. She went back home with him.

I never understood why she stayed with him. A few months went by and everything had blown over. We had been invited to my sister’s house she shared with her college friends for a party. (Big shocker here!!!! It would be the first and last time) W was good friends with one of my sister’s roommates so she really wanted to go. We were both a little worried about Will.

Everyone was having fun. It actually lasted for half the night which was a lot longer than I had ever thought it would. Then I heard my sister yelling. You never want to make my sister angry. If people thought I was bad when I was drinking my sister was bad sober or drinking.

When I went to see what was going on she was yelling at Will and W was begging her to let “it” go. I yelled at my sister “What the hell is going on?” she said that Will had slapped W and bent her arm behind her back. She wanted him out of her house. He was refusing to leave. Will could be nasty when he was just the right amount of drunk. I told my sister I would handle it. She then turned her anger on me. “This is what happens when you bring your scumbag friends around” so then I started arguing with her. I then turned around to tell Will to shut the f*ck up. Will replied “I’m not going to listen to some fat baby killing whore” this may have been when the red veil came over my eyes. The next thing I know we’re both outside and I have him by the throat against a car. W wasn’t happy about any of it. I told her “This is it W. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t listen to him talk about you and now he brings up personal stuff about me in public? Until you leave him I can’t do this”.

It was a few more years before we spoke again. She was with Will for 7 years. The last 2 years she made him the victim and treated him almost as bad as he had treated her. None of it makes it right. As soon as I heard her voice I felt something inside me break open. We talked for 3 hours and promised ourselves that nothing like this would happen again.

Those 7 years with Will were really W’s first relationship. It left her a cold person when it came to men. She never was one for “feelings” to begin with. I can count on my hand the number of times I’ve seen her cry. Almost all of those times had to do with me. None had to do with a relationship. I’m not the only one who has some issues I’ve realized. She’s extremely moody, obsessive compulsive about odd things like her lawn and certain areas of her house, and the way she is with men. Her brother has Mental Health issues but refuses to see anyone and their parents refuse to acknowledge it. W does see it. It wouldn’t be so far fetched that she would have something going on.

I do realize that as an alcoholic in remission I see alcoholism in everyone. I do realize as a Bipolar person that I see Mental Health issues in everyone. This doesn’t necessarily make me wrong. Does it?

MENTAL HEALTH AWARENESS *(may contain triggers)

I told him how I would find a Hotel. Rent a room. I would put plastic down on the floor so there wouldn’t be too much of a mess. I would drink as much as I could prior to doing anything. I wouldn’t leave any identification to be found. I would find a way to get a gun. I told  him I’m tired of being a living ghost and invisible.

I looked over at him. He was stabbing his tablet with the stylus saying “Goddamn, Goddamn!”. He had not heard a word I had said. I may think about what would happen if I did kill myself but I wouldn’t do it. I’m too afraid to find out there’s nothing but darkness when you do. That’s what scares me about death. Right now I fool myself into thinking that there’s a happy place everyone goes where I would see my mom, other relatives, and my animals. Not Heaven, just a beautiful place where everyone, no matter what finds peace. Suicides are not allowed in Heaven as far as I know but they would be allowed here and they would find what ever it is they’re looking for.

I had a brilliant idea to start a company where you can hire a friend for a day. Someone who sits and listens to you, has lunch with you or a movie. You could watch TV and joke about the absurdity of it all. This is how pathetic I’ve become. I would legally change my name to Ghost if it wasn’t also a drug dealers name on TV.

It doesn’t feel like anyone is becoming aware of the Mental Health situation at all. We are treated like experiments. For once I would like to go in and have a Doctor say I’m going to give 1 pill and it will make everything better. That will never happen.

What my family and the rest of society will never understand is this is as good as it’s going to get for me personally. I’ve been told by numerous Doctors. At this stage of the game with other illnesses going on I WILL CONTINUE TO GET WORSE.

Instead putting restrictions on our relationships and ultimatums why don’t they just spend as much quality time with me as they can? I am alone and all I hear is “You’re not seeing the right Doctor, You need more therapy, Maybe acupuncture”. NO, NO, NO! LISTEN! I don’t need anything but a hug and some support. I will continue with the medications I’m on for now. There is nothing else to be done. I am so tired of explaining myself and apologizing.


I remember when I was younger I hated sleepovers. I also didn’t like to be away from my parents for too long. I had a strange habit of bouncing my head on my pillow to calm myself down at night. I would also do it in the car. My parents accepted it and so did my siblings. My mother came from a highly dysfunctional family with many mental health issues. Maybe they just thought it WAS normal.

By the time Middle School came I was now dry heaving before school everyday. The “butterflies” in my stomach were nonstop.

In my late teens I couldn’t go to the local Gas Station alone, the market, mall, or anywhere. If I couldn’t find someone to go with me, I just didn’t go. If I had to call someone I didn’t know I would try to get my mom or sister to do it for me. They did it most of the time.

When you feel like you are going throw up constantly, cry constantly, and feel different from everyone else, starting at such an early age it seems almost normal after a time. It isn’t normal. It was all far from normal.

Not many people would have understood my feelings of isolation, like I was a mistake, I never belonged anywhere or with anyone. I was always on the outside looking in. Part of me wanted to change and the other wanted to submit and give in. I tried to give in several times. I wasn’t very good at it.

I started drinking at 17 and continued until I was 37. I quit cold turkey and didn’t slip once until a few days ago.

I should have known that I couldn’t handle the environment I was going into on my own. A concert where everyone is drinking. I always drank at concerts. It took 30 minutes before I hit the bar. I was in a different state, far from home, alone and without my Bipolar medications. My nose spray exploded on the plane and had seeped into my medication bottles, causing them to dissolve or crumble. I could manage to take a few but not many. I knew I was in a Manic Episode when I booked the vacation. I tried to back out but the Travel company wouldn’t let me.

These are not excuses they are just facts. I’m trying to deal with the shame and guilt. It’s extremely hard. Seven years was a long time for me. But I have no desire to drink, I didn’t then either. I just felt so out of place, I felt like people were staring at me because I was alone. I could feel the blood rushing to my head and my hands were ice cold. So I drank. Having to start over is the worse feeling. I know why I did it and I don’t want to do it again. What I have to do is talk to someone about feeling better in my own skin. The self destructive thought of never being “good enough” no matter what and then trying to prove that I am is exhausting.

So I need to get into a program or one on one counseling to deal with these and other issues. I won’t give up. I have seen other people looking so happy in life, I have to stop thinking that I don’t deserve to feel the same. I’m being honest and I know I have disappointed many people. I disappointed myself the most.

Why No One Likes Me (Told to Me By Others)

I have no friends because I discuss my health issues too much. No one wants to hear you when you’re down. I’m too negative. I talk too much. I repeat myself. I talk about things no one else wants to talk about like, movies, books, animals, the news. WTF is left? The weather, food and kids.

I have saved conversations that I have had with people on FB. I did this to reassure myself that I wasn’t doing what I was being accused of doing. I looked back at them and the only time I brought up health was when I was asked. Granted my public posts would be information on mental health, animal advocacy (not a PETA or Humane Society fan) and Anti-Trafficking. Also art I like and my jewelry. I know I lost some people with the art and Advocating for Mental Health and that’s too bad. When I received an anonymous post on FB showing what looked like homeless men and women on an island, and saying I should be sterilized and sent to an island I was devastated. I realized then that a lot people didn’t care.

I talk to one person on FB out of 75. He’s not family but I have known him for about 15 years. I have cousins, Aunts and Uncles that do not talk to me on FB. Even when I was in the hospital recently in serious condition, they never called or anything. I’m pretty disgusted. My sister won’t talk to me about it anymore.

I try so hard to make sure I bring up topics that the other person is interested in. It’s like pulling teeth sometimes. I have anxiety and Social Phobia to begin with but I still try. To be told why people don’t want to be friends with me and in the same breath that I have to make new ones is overwhelming. This conversation was with my sister. My twin. The one who can’t understand the incredible ache in my chest she causes. I never feel like I do anything right. I want to run and hide. I want to curl up into a ball and pretend I don’t exist.

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