Depression in the news, and in my life...

Take a look at this article I just found off BBC.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/7233169.stm

Once I was being treated for anxiety, the first time I ever went to see a psychiatrist or a mental health person in my life. It was scary, didn't help my anxiety about the stigma. What upsets me the most is when people say they will help but aren't, in actuality there. That's what it means for me to not trust someone, and to lose trust in people generally.

I was being treated for anxiety with 'antipsychotics'. They said it was a psychotic disorder that would develop into schizophrenia. Only until after I was incarcerated they rejected that decree upon my life. To let doctors define me, is to give them incredible power over my self-identification. They have violated me in the most profound of ways. I've lost so much to them, and I'll never forget what they did to me.

When I was being treated 2 years ago at this local mental hospital place; I bumped into someone from university. Someone I knew through a university society. I remember one time he seemed to be following me as I was going home, so much that I had to make up some reason or somesuch so as he would stop following me. I thought he was a bit odd at first, but bumping into him in the waiting room of the hospital place was a shame too deep to express.

When you look at another person with a mental health problem in the place where they label you and 'treat' you, you are already defeated, ashamed, destroyed. That is a self-decreed judgement internalised by the judgment of the doctor. The doctor, with her Hippocratic oath, and confidentiality, seems so distant as not to be human. She knows your shame but it is not as bad in the clinical environment of the clinic.

But to see another social being not clinical, not sterilised by the state and its butchery of self-redefinition. You see the hurt and shame in them, and they see it in you; to meet eyes with them is a powerfully excruciatingly painful experience. Just pretend they are not there, don't talk to them. That's how I tried to deal with my incarceration; don't talk to anyone beyond waving and smiling as you pass them. I needed to preserve something inside myself, a barrier they didn't break down...

To remember all these things hurts me greatly. To remember the hospital; I go over it all the time in my mind, or sometimes I might tell someone, a friend, on MSN, how it makes me feel. It is too disturbing and distressing for them; to be in hell. Sometimes the bad memories come and they take over my mind, my thoughts, the feelings of distress, anger, lonliness, hopelessness, inferiority, inadequacy, and this murderous desire come through. All the negatives that I have.

They broke down one important barrier. My anger. The anger I started to feel when the superluminary doctor told me my incarceration was unnecessary made me boil inside. I learned to shout at adults. I learned to shout at white people. I learned to shout at women. I learned to humiliate those doctors with my words; to attack them with my academic knowledge and logic (I have been taught proper logic at uni). I learned to shout at people who aren't my parents. I learned how to shout at near strangers. I learned how to shout at authority, to challenge them, and use my own courage, anger, and confidence that came from within to oppose their will; never again will I let them oppress me. Never again will my timidity prevent me from opposing the medical doctors. Never again will I trust the hippocratic oath. Never again will I obey a medical doctor and tacitly assume without argument or convincing of her authority. I will challenge authority of those medical staff; by their academic qualifications, publications and other such relevant records. If they don't have a doctorate; they aren't worth anything to me...

The anger twists me into a hurtful animal. The anger transforms me into a person I don't want to be. The anger, I still am afraid to talk about. What it does to me; the boundary that was broken, allowed me to shout at my friends, my parents; and to humiliate anyone who opposed me or who had little academic authority to justify their position. I insulted my parents for not being academically qualified, those pathetic pissant immigrant fucks. I forget their humble roots and their difficult times, with all the racism and the like during when they migrated. Those things don't matter to them opposing me; they should not argue with me if they can't win.

The anger, the incarceration, the poor treatment they had...it has deformed me in a way that I don't like myself.

I can't bear to look at myself. I couldn't bear for Marie to see me. I started purging in hatred towards how pathetic I am. Yesterday morning I felt a lot of distress. I gave Marie a text. I haven't heard from her at all in any reply. She said I should call her at times like that; that I shouldn't hesitate, and that she wants me to call her then. She says she cares. But why does it feel I can't have her?

Because of all the other guys she knows, and who seem to make flirty and affectionate gestures. I'm from the old beliefs of things where I'm possessive. It's bad, I know. I need to rid it.

That guy I met when I was in the waiting room? Messaged me on facebook; he mentioned the incident, told me he had bipolar; he asked 'are you one of us?'. Referring to me as a 'mental'. I'm not willing to deal with this. I'm not willing to deal with this stigma I live with, or to face others who I hardly know to press it upon me. It is fucking rude!

Only Marie knows how things really are; although I have been texting Antonia telling her; trying to seek someone who I can find solace in, even if just as a friend. I told Antonia that I can't love her or return her feelings, but her friendship is valued.

I have another essay deadline. I don't think I can make it. Life, and essay wise.

Sometimes when I meet Marie; I see her and our eyes meet. I feel like she knows me, once in fact she did indeed say 'I know you', after asking about a piercing she didn't know I had. Anyhoo; Marie's glance at me, makes me feel completely contained in her. Somehow when I am in her eyes I feel completely consumed by her, her knowing sustains me as our eyes lock. She's so beautiful, she is the stuff that poets write about, and men and women of decades and centuries after admire her wonder after she is long passed. Such perfection, such beauty, such likeness to me, it tears me apart that I can't have her, or that we don't talk as often.

She's busy with a lot of her friends, going out, partying, going on trips with other guys to other cities, meeting people, and other such activities.

All my life involves is wanking, crying, purging, oh, and studying like 13 hours a day.

I'll never be good enough for her; I am captured by her closeness, yet tortured by her distance.