History repeats itself

When I was 17, I was diagnosed with depression. I was miserable and down all the time. I didn't understand why. I smoked a lot of pot and drank just to help fill some sort of void I was feeling in my life. We all know that that doesn't ever really help or solve the problem. It got so bad that I attempted suicide. I wrote a suicide note telling my parents it wasn't their fault and that I was sorry. I downed what was left of a bottle of Advil and a handful of sleeping pills (13 to be exact - strange I still remember that) I left the note under my pillow and went to sleep. Despite the overwhelming odds, tomorrow came. I woke up and felt like complete shit. My stomach was tore up. I couldn't eat. I felt like my stomach was filled with acid and being burned up. I tried to throw up but nothing came up. I was fucking miserable. I was still depressed, still wanted to die and now I was in incredible excruciating pain. I remember thinking I should have just put a fucking gun to my head. I had truly wished I had died. But I am one that is always searching for meaning in life and so I felt compelled to understand why I was still alive. I broke down crying. I was tired of feeling down and depressed. If I wasn't going to kill myself, then I had to figure out a way to fix my head.  I told my parents that I wanted help and to talk to someone. (They still don't know about the attempt on my life to this day - not many do) I started seeing a psychologist who was kind of a dick. He didn't really believe that I had depression and just thought I was trying to act cool or that it was the cool thing to do. I never told him about my suicide attempt as I was scared that the white coats would come take me away. I also had a psychiatrist. This guy was cool. He understood me and let me talk and didn't judge. I was put on Prozac and within a few weeks I started to feel better. It was really relieving to feel like myself again. Granted, with the help of big pharma, but still, I felt like myself. I stayed on Prozac for a few years until I was 19 then I decided I was ready to go off. It was a big decision but I felt comfortable with it. As I started to go off it, I gained weight - big time. It was at this time that I started dating my now wife, Jessica. I know it scared her that I was going off it but she still supported me. I remember being tired constantly. Skipping college classes just to go sleep at her house. I ended up getting to a good spot however it took quite a while.

Fast forward a couple of years. I remained off it and started to feel more anxiety in my life. Not wanting to socialize. Just wanting to be alone. I was in college in Fargo at this time. I have always had an easy time making friends and fitting in, but I was really struggling with that in college. So I retreated to what worked in my youth - drugs. In hindsight, I should have known that that was a horrible horrible idea but I was 23 and felt disconnected. So I turned to getting high and have a horrible experience. It wasn't like it was before. (More on that experience in a different post maybe). My anxiety starts interfering with everything in my life. Just talking to people in public makes me anxious and nervous. The thought of even answering a question in a classroom makes my palms sweat and heart race. Somehow - I manage to graduate college with a double major and with honors. As I move back home and start to focus on being an adult and getting a job etc, I make the decision to go back on Prozac to help with my anxiety. Like I previously said, I have always been an outgoing, outspoken guy but lately I had been recluse and reserved. One day after I had started Prozac, Jessica and I were out to lunch with our friends Dave and Mandy. Dave asked the waiter how big the personal pizza was and the waiter said "it is about 10 inches" and just out of nowhere I blurted out "Dave, if you need to know how big 10 inches is, I can show you!" Everyone just stops and is stunned. I can't believe I said it myself. The waiter laughs. Jessica said "well looks like the Justin Titus is BACK!"  I will never forget that day. The day I started to feel like myself again. Alive and happy. I have been on Prozac since then. It has been almost 10 years.

Fast forward to a year ago... I start to feel dissatisfaction with life but I cant really put my finger on what exactly it was. I had started a new job that I wasn't extremely in love with, the addition of my daughter who was more difficult than my son was as a baby. Things between me and my wife started to change. There was a distance. I can feel the dark clouds coming in but in my head I think " hey I am on Prozac managing this so it CAN'T be depression." It had to be something else. So I start looking at other things in life that I am not happy with. Then I start looking at what I can do to make me happy? I learned to stay away from drugs. I have abstained from alcohol for a few years now and didn't want to get back into that. I didn't have much of a crutch or vice. Then I start to realize that I was having dark thoughts... suicidal thoughts come back into my head. How do I die? Would anyone care? I can escape all this. Holy shit. It is back. I am 36. I shouldn't be feeling this. This is a teenage thing - I have everything I ever wanted in life... what the fuck is going on?

Song of the day - Picture Window - Ben Folds

"You know what hope is, Hope is a bastard. Hope is liar, a cheat and a tease."