Depression

This is kind of a hard subject to talk about, but something that I knew I'd get to eventually when I started this blog.

I have always had a hard time fitting in with people. I'm not sure why, but it's just difficult for me to interact with others. Growing up, as the people around me flourished, and their social circles grew, I just kind of sat around on the outside of the group. I had friends, sure, but mostly because particularly outgoing or extroverted people would just declare that I was their friend. I think I just made a good sounding board for them to talk about themselves, their interests, and their lives, as I don't really feel any of them ever tried to get to know me.

I did have a few people that I would get comfortable around, where I actually wanted to hang out with them instead of just feeling obligated to hang out with them, because it's what people are supposed to do. But these folks had a tendency to move away, to the point where I decided I wasn't really supposed to have a "best friend". So, I've more or less always felt a bit lonely.

At home wasn't much different. My parents divorced when I was young and remarried not too incredibly long after, so I had four parents. Of them, I was probably closer to my dad. That being said, we didn't have a whole lot in common. Dad, growing up on a farm, was always an outdoors, work with your hands type. I, being red-haired, tend to burst into flames when exposed to sunlight for too long, and I was more of the thinking-type than the doing-type. Still, I didn't mind manual labor, and would actually prefer to work than sit idle, so I would help him out when I could, working on whatever project he'd find to do. But we didn't really share a lot of interests, so while I could interact with him, and identify with him, I just couldn't ever really communicate him.

That's not to say I didn't get on well with the rest of my parents. It's just that Claudia, my step-mom, was kind of the problem solver of the family, so I never really wanted to impose on her time with what I'd consider a minor concern, though honestly, I doubt she'd see it as an imposition. Likewise, I think my Mom understood my mindset a bit, having grown up with a brother with a similar mental state, but it was hard communicating with her with my step-dad around, whom I wasn't overly fond of.

My siblings were no easier to talk to. My older brother was in that age where you try to distance yourself from your annoying younger brother and sister, and my sister, though my twin, was a girl and thus her mind just worked differently. Neither of them really seemed to struggle with a social life, so I doubt that they would have understood anyway.

So, even at home, I always felt like a bit of an outsider, being the middle child, second son, and red-headed stepchild all rolled into one broken package. That's not to say I didn't feel loved, though. I never doubted that my family loved me. I just don't think that they understood me.

As high school rolled around, my social problems and mental state didn't improve all that much. Again, I had "friends" in my class, but no one that I felt really comfortable around. There were girls that I liked, but I couldn't really find a way to express that. Worse, I started becoming a target of ridicule by some of the more "normal" people at school. While I was never physically bullied, the verbal abuse wasn't helpful for my already fragile mental state, so when senior year rolled around and I more or less stopped caring about anything, I ended up getting put on anti-depressants.

The pills actually seemed to help a bit. I actually seemed happy. I was a bit more talkative and outgoing at home. So overall, I'd say things were improving. Of course, the pills didn't really fix the problem I was having with social anxiety, but at least I'm not dwelling on it, right? Well, in some regards, that just makes me feel worse. Before, I was an outsider who couldn't really identify or communicate with the people around me. Now, I was an outsider who couldn't really identify or communicate with the people around me, but I'm also on medication. So, sure, I feel happy, but I wasn't really happy.

I think the doctor who prescribed the pills kind of picked up on that. But rather than try to get to the root of my problem, which I didn't really understand at the time, he just doubled my dosage and called it a day. So, with twice the dosage, would I be twice as "happy"? Surprisingly, no. Instead of better balancing my emotional state, it just burned it out completely. I didn't feel happy or sad. I didn't feel anything.  Which just bothered me more. Still, I just struggled with it and pushed on.

Things didn't get easier. Over the course of a few months, my grandmother passed away, I ended up withdrawing from college, losing my job in the process, and after a bitter fight, ended up parting company with one of the few friends I had left. So, I just became more withdrawn. I felt more and more outside of the rest of the world. And I hated the pills because I couldn't even feel sad about any of it.

The doctor wouldn't take me off of the pills, so I ended up taking myself off of them. I started staggering my doses until I just stopped taking the pills. The withdrawals I went through over the next two weeks were not pleasant. But at least I was off the pills. So maybe my emotions would return, even if they were mostly negative. They didn't come back.

I would end up gaining a few more friends when a friend who had previously moved away came back into town, bringing a small social circle with him. So, it was nice going from mostly sitting at home alone to actually hanging out with and talking to people. And for a while, I actually felt a bit closer to "normal".

As time went on, it started becoming clear that these people weren't really my friends. I was just someone to make them feel better about themselves. Eventually, I decided that having "friends" wasn't worth all the headache, and stood up for myself. When it became clear that I wasn't their doormat anymore, they left.

Which brings us to the here and now. I found myself at a particularly low point when the last couple of friends that I really had left found themselves with significantly less free time to spare for me. Finding myself sitting at home alone with no one to talk to again, I hit another mental breaking point.

And so, I'm back on anti-depressants. I'm taking the lowest dose possible now. It doesn't really make me feel "better", but it keeps me more focused where I don't dwell on the negative feelings as much.

Despite that, I actually do feel a bit better this time around. I recently made a new friend who has a better understanding of my mental state and my social anxiety. It's a lot easier to talk to people who can see where you're coming from, so while I still don't feel "normal", at least I don't feel quite so alone anymore.