Back in 2002, after spending 2 weeks in an emergency mental health center, I discovered that there are two types of depressed people; those who want to get better and get on with life and those who want to be indulged and coddled.
I was 22 years old and had just been booted out of my apartment and engagement by my ex. I completely fell apart and my dad helped to check me in. Funny thing is, I made friends the first night I was there. I'd never felt so accepted in my life before then, but there I was in a group full of people who understood what it was like to be out of control with your emotions. They didn't resent my drastic dips in mood and would even catch and name my behavior patterns before I could even begin to describe them. The three of us became like the Three Medicated Musketeers–Eric, Becca, and I.
Two weeks after I got out of a 3 year relationship, several guys had expressed interrest in me–though I wasn't interrested in dating anyone so soon after having been dumped by a guy whose ring I was still wearing. In the back of my mind, I reminded myself that those guys were too messed up to be good for me. Becca and I had whispered to eachother after Lights-out, that we both thought Eric was cute but off limits–he was still married but separated. I started sleeping with him roughly a week after we both got out. We got back in touch with Becca, hoping to recapture that institutional comradery we had back in the EMHC. That ended with many beers, a threesome, and my first (and last) coke binge.
Right around that time, I began to see things for how they were. I was struggling to regain some normality in my life–get another job (I was forced to quit when I moved in with friends, an hour away from my work), get a grip on the fact that I still loved the jerk who had abandoned me, get myself healthy again. I WANTED to be happy; I wanted to be a good person, but my friends wanted to wallow in self pity. They made no attempts to improve their situations. They only surrounded themselves with equally miserable people, to be accepted and adored for their long list of why-me's–but I was tired of misery. I wanted to change things, work on things in my life, get better, BE better.
Tired of listening to Becca's needy, tearful phone calls and Eric's manipulative demands, I broke ties with the other 2 Medicated Musketeers. My life did get worse before it got better–a lot worse, in fact, but they eventually did get better. It's been a slow and painful process, trying to rearrange my attitude and behavioral patterns. Things are by no means perfect. Here I am, depressed again, but the difference is that I'm working hard to keep my head above water and not succomb to the urge to whine and bitch and make excuses for acting out.
Since then I've lost another friend, whom I could no longer stand being around any longer. I've lost the patience for people who complain about things they never try to fix. I will listen to a person vent, only if they are really TRYING to fix the problem. Otherwise, you're just dragging me down to your level of misery. Everyone on this site has valid reasons for feeling bad, but what are you DOING to remedy that. How have you been TRYING? Why is it up to the rest of the world to make your problems go away? These are our lives, are they not? No solutution is fool-proof. Nor is it easy to come by, but isn't your life worth the effort? God, I'm just so sick of listening to people make lists of all their woes so they can use them as excuses for why EVERYONE ELSE did them wrong. What a cop out. If you're so angry at other people, why give them power over your life? Kick them out of your life and take responsibility.
Why does everyone pretend their case is so damned special that this advise would never work on them? AAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
*This frustrated blog isn't aimed at everyone here. Just at the people I seem to consistantly attract in my life, who would rather wallow and complain about the injustices than work at figuring out how to set things straight.
