I am 43 and I struggle with Major Depressive Disorder
They say that my sorts of problems don't start until late teens early 20s. I think mine may have started just a little sooner. I am being treated for depression, bipolar disorder, and anxiety disorder, yes suicidal tendencies come along with that. In my case it started her childhood. It was the late 70s early 80s, I was told that I have a learning disability in reading. While the educational system was trying to tell me that there was nothing wrong with me, and then treating me the opposite. My parents didn't know how to handle it. They are both the type of people who if you push them they pushback. They didn't seem to realize that a six-year-old may not be this way. So while my parents were pushing me ( with the intent of improving me) The school systems seem to think that I needed to be treated like I was "special ". As a result I felt stupid and useless. And to be honest I still do quite often. I've thought about strangling myself several times. Even tried a couple. This doesn't seem to go away. Some days are just easier to manage than others. But I have a wife and a son who love me. My wife doesn't know how to handle this. And I don't know how to tell her. That sometimes I just need her to hold me. My son is 10-year-old loving little snuggle bug. He doesn't know what's wrong, he just knows that something is wrong. And he just rubs his little arms around me and gives me hugs. And I try not to show him I'm sad. Because that makes him sad. I don't want my boy to be like his dad. He's the reason I keep going. And some days it's harder to keep going then others. But I keep going. I know my wife loves me. But she doesn't know how to handle my problems. So sometimes it feels like I'm less important than other things. It's not her fault. I know it's in my head. But sometimes it's hard not to feel that way. My parents are still in the picture too. So is my little sister. And my little sister I mean she's 41. She doesn't really understand why I am the way I am, or even really what's wrong with me. ( The ironic part about that is that her husband is a psychologist.) My parents are starting to understand. But they really don't get the whole picture just yet. Maybe that's better. The point is I keep going. Sometimes I don't even know why. I have a couple of good reasons. Some days are better than others. Some days are better than others. But the problem never goes away. I guess I'm going one day at a time;
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