Need to stop hating myself.

[Locut0s]

For some reason it's not easy. I didn't really have a choice in dropping out of school a couple of weeks back. At least that's what I'm trying to tell myself. I would have continued to drink and self destruct. But I can't seem to stop hating myself and feeling extremely guilty. I'm depressed and want to hide from the world. I sleep all day etc, classic depression symptoms I guess. I don't want people to see me. I should be working or something but I don't feel up to it.

[elleng]

1. As I and others have said,

find another psychiatrist, soon, and see him/her OFTEN!!!

[Locut0s]

2. Thanks ellen. Yes I'm going to get a referal to see a new one...

As soon as I can get in to see my family DR I'll get a referral to see another psychiatrist. I'm also going to see if I can get a referral to a therapist who can do CBT therapy.

Thanks.

[elleng]

3. GOOD!

[CaliforniaPeggy]

4. I agree completely with elleng, my dear Locut0s...

You need a new therapist and the sooner that happens, the happier you will be.

What you have is an illness...no different than if you had, say, pneumonia. You wouldn't feel good then either, nor would you want to be around anyone. You'd want to sleep and stay away.

This is not your fault.

[Denninmi]

5. The hardest battle. Loving yourself, feeling good about yourself.

I won't lie to you, I struggle with that daily in a major way. At this point for me, it pretty much is the battle. I can take myself into a black hole in 30 seconds where I convince myself I'm the lowest piece of scum who ever walked the planet. It takes a lot of hard work to get past that, you just have to convince yourself you are worthy.

[Locut0s]

6. Indeed, we have much in common...

Thanks again Denninmi. I'll do my best.

See my reply to your PM.

[hunter]

7. I don't know if this will help you or not. Ignore it if it's not helpful.

My dad's dad was autistic-spectrum rocket-scientist. An engineer who's greatest pride was his work on the Apollo space project. He was a wizard with titanium. He was also an officer during World War II. He wanted to fly and work with airplanes but they put him to work keeping "crazy" people deemed essential to the war effort out of jail. Handsome young officer carrying the "Get Out Of Jail Free" card. His wife, my grandma was intelligent too, but with what would now be called a severe anxiety disorder.

My mom's ancestors were just plain crazy, nineteenth century European pacifists, religious misfits, runaways to America's wild west. Clueless about ordinary people but they knew cattle and horses. My mom's mom was so crazy that me and my many siblings always thought, "Why in the hell do all these older people treat her like she's sane?" It made no sense. When my wife first met my grandma, my grandma told her a very long story about a dog she'd known back in the early 'thirties.

My dad's an artist and occasional scientist, my mom is a writer-editor. Me and my mess of siblings had an entirely feral childhood. A house full of books and magazines, my parents' crazy friends, watching Saturday morning cartoons with random eccentric people who'd spent the nights sleeping on the sofa. Rescue dogs. LPGA lesbian golfers. Hairy harmless naked old Santa Claus dudes who didn't lock the bathroom door. Etc...

Anyways I never got any training in guilt or shame or authority and I think that saved my life. My only learned responsibility was to do what was right. My conscience is still that.