Hello all. I'm an American male of 17 years, and I'm trying to identify and fix the patterns in my life that contribute to the negative way I feel about myself and others. I'm not here looking to impress my dissatisfaction upon the world, I genuinely want to live a better life.
That said, here we go:
Starting in January of 2003, I've exhibited a great willingness to relocate. I was elated to leave my home in California to move 2 states away, but I did not sever relationships in my home town. I preserved a long distance relationship for 5 months, visiting every month or so. I lived in that second town for 6 months before moving to another town in the same state, where I stayed for nearly 9 months, after which I moved home to San Diego, though not the same area as before. I have been here since June, and I still have not visited those friends from my first high school. (ages 14-18 down here)
Furthermore, everytime I move to a new school, I invent a history for myself. I always paint myself pitiful, full of shame and guilt for things that weren't actually my fault. A miscarriage that left my ex-girlfriend barren preceded her suicide, a long-enduring addiction to vicodin, and a suicide attempt, these things never truly happened. Other things, though, like a father that I felt never loved me, I twist and augment. My father left my family, at my mother's behest, when I was 14. His version of paternity was not the most affectionate; I recall being nicknamed "Rotten Kid xxxx". But as my friends hear it, my father was a violent drunk that secretly hated me, and addressed me as "Bastard" when no one else was around. This pattern goes on: at age 15, my best friend's girlfriend came to me in tears, ashamed that her ex had kissed her while my friend was out of town. I was not the most forgiving then, but they got through it. The story today is that she had slept with him, and I was overly harsh, and that she had eventually killed herself.
Perhaps 6 weeks ago, I broke an ankle and received vicodin for the pain. Rather than take them as I was told, I saved them, taking 30 mg at a time with alcohol. I'm aware that by nature I submit all too easily to the lure of drugs, but thus far I have not had opportunity to become dangerously abusive.
Predictable from what background I've given you, I am fairly depressive. I recall, at age 12 or so, crying in the shower, telling myself that no one would ever love me. I don't know what brought that thought on, but I feel that it has been with me in all my endeavours for the past 5 years.
This past summer I committed myself to exercising and losing weight. I am in better shape now, and still working at it, though not as fervently as a few months ago. Despite feeling better about myself, I remain a bitter and caustic person. I don't like being like this, but I can't seem to change it. I would appreciate whatever insights you can offer me.
Lastly, because it seems relevant now, I feel ashamed in asking my mother for help in securing therapy sessions. She doesn't even know that I've been depressed, and I don't feel comfortable talking to her about it, even though she is chronicly depressive.
Thank you all in advance.
That said, here we go:
Starting in January of 2003, I've exhibited a great willingness to relocate. I was elated to leave my home in California to move 2 states away, but I did not sever relationships in my home town. I preserved a long distance relationship for 5 months, visiting every month or so. I lived in that second town for 6 months before moving to another town in the same state, where I stayed for nearly 9 months, after which I moved home to San Diego, though not the same area as before. I have been here since June, and I still have not visited those friends from my first high school. (ages 14-18 down here)
Furthermore, everytime I move to a new school, I invent a history for myself. I always paint myself pitiful, full of shame and guilt for things that weren't actually my fault. A miscarriage that left my ex-girlfriend barren preceded her suicide, a long-enduring addiction to vicodin, and a suicide attempt, these things never truly happened. Other things, though, like a father that I felt never loved me, I twist and augment. My father left my family, at my mother's behest, when I was 14. His version of paternity was not the most affectionate; I recall being nicknamed "Rotten Kid xxxx". But as my friends hear it, my father was a violent drunk that secretly hated me, and addressed me as "Bastard" when no one else was around. This pattern goes on: at age 15, my best friend's girlfriend came to me in tears, ashamed that her ex had kissed her while my friend was out of town. I was not the most forgiving then, but they got through it. The story today is that she had slept with him, and I was overly harsh, and that she had eventually killed herself.
Perhaps 6 weeks ago, I broke an ankle and received vicodin for the pain. Rather than take them as I was told, I saved them, taking 30 mg at a time with alcohol. I'm aware that by nature I submit all too easily to the lure of drugs, but thus far I have not had opportunity to become dangerously abusive.
Predictable from what background I've given you, I am fairly depressive. I recall, at age 12 or so, crying in the shower, telling myself that no one would ever love me. I don't know what brought that thought on, but I feel that it has been with me in all my endeavours for the past 5 years.
This past summer I committed myself to exercising and losing weight. I am in better shape now, and still working at it, though not as fervently as a few months ago. Despite feeling better about myself, I remain a bitter and caustic person. I don't like being like this, but I can't seem to change it. I would appreciate whatever insights you can offer me.
Lastly, because it seems relevant now, I feel ashamed in asking my mother for help in securing therapy sessions. She doesn't even know that I've been depressed, and I don't feel comfortable talking to her about it, even though she is chronicly depressive.
Thank you all in advance.
