nonentity
Member
I'm bipolar, and the medication I take prevents manic phases but doesn't even make a dent in my depression. It doesn't help that I'm also severely agoraphobic and have a whopping case of OCD. It's getting increasingly hard to function and deal with life's normal ups and downs, although no one in the world could tell me my life in any way resembles normality. Only prisoners are more isolated than I am, and even they interact with fellow inmates and get visits from friends and relatives. The depression is like this ten ton weight on my shoulders all the time, it's a superhuman effort to just get up in the morning and go through the motions of living. I turn more and more often to my food obsession, I've been dealing with eating disorders since I was eleven. Food is like a drug to me, nothing else gives me such solace. If it wasn't for my cat I'd have no reason to go on living, strange as it sounds. I have no doubt my life will eventually end in suicide. Once my cat dies nothing will obligate me to continue this pointless semblance of a life. I've tried every anti-depressant in existence, and also had years of psychotherapy. What else is left to me? Anyway that's my sob story, somebody play a freaking violin. ugh.
Cheers!!