Loneliness

Me
For as long as I can remember I’ve been struggling with my happiness. Now I just don’t have the motivation for anything, for life. I’m not even sure who I am anymore. My relationship with the mother of my children broke up in 2019, lets just say it was an acrimonious split that led to a nasty court battle so I could even see my children

My financial problems started shortly after. I took the kids away to Butlins and because I’m stupid, I spent all my money on it, my rent money, my council tax money. This was November, right before Christmas and I HAVE to be the one that spends the most. I can’t stand it if people think bad of me, so I ignored my bills to spend on the kids. For me after the damage my ex had done to my reputation with the kids it was all I had left. I had to outspend her. It set in a sequence of events I have never recovered from. The council got an attachment of earnings order on my wages and because of this I didn’t pay my rent. It is still unpaid to this day.

I thought I could the reason I felt sad every day was because I was lonely. My brother was happy in a new relationship, and I wanted what they had. I got my wish. After about six months of looking, I matched with someone on POF. It went really well and we started a serious relationship. Neither of us drove, so I saw her a could of times a week and travelled by taxi. The times suited me. I was happy with that and once it started to be more it began to annoy me. She loved me with every fibre in her and I said the same to her, but it wasn’t true. I’d began to like my own space and my time alone. It was an inconvenience to see her. I realised I cared for her a lot, but I didn’t love her like she loved me.

I was too scared to end things though. I’m scared to death of confrontation, and my constant need to please wouldn’t let me hurt her. So, I did what I always do, I pushed her away. I lied, I hid things and I told her what she wanted to hear to keep the peace. It all blew up eventually; she found out about my financial problems. My ex didn’t help. She messaged her directly and made-up horrendous lies about me to get her to split up with me.

The sex was an issue too. I was unable to perform regularly. I could bring her to orgasm in other ways regularly, but she wanted sex. I started to hate my penis and wish I didn’t have one. This was an issue with my ex too. Eventually she’d had enough and left leaving me alone again with my suicidal thoughts, which are now nearly every day.

Since I have been an adult I’ve effeminate man. I’m sensitive to small things. My family have regularly suggested that I should be gay because of how I am sometimes. My ex told me she was genuinely scared I was going to tell her I was gay. I don’t fancy men though. I like women, but I think it’s more than that. I have constantly felt ever since I was older that I could be in the wrong skin. In the wrong body.

My mum told me that throughout her whole pregnancy she believed me to be a girl, she was shocked when I came out a boy. Is that what I was supposed to be? I think about it every day now and I’m just so confused. I was brought up in a strict catholic household. These feelings feel wrong and dirty. I am much mire liberal than her, I disagree with just about all of her beliefs, yet I can’t accept what these feelings are.

When I play a game, I always choose a female protagonist, it actually annoys me if there isn’t one. I’ve ditched a game before because of this. Is this the reason for my sadness? Why didn’t getting in a relationship with someone who loved me help?

Where am I now? I have never told anyone these thoughts that I may be in the wrong body and I don’t intend to. I am sad everyday and I constantly feel I would rather not be here. I try to talk myself out of killing myself with reasons like it would break my nans heart or the kids are just too young to process it. I have considered crashing my car just to get out of having to go to work because it gives me anxiety.

My relationship with my children is improving slowly. They come here more and I’ve had to work damn hard to get it to that. After what happened with my ex

Add to that my intrusive thoughts about my body and my financial problems. I live in constant fear that I am going to come home from work, and I’ve been kicked out of my house. I’m scared of every knock at the door, and I won’t open my mail.

I hate myself constantly, I’m no good and I don’t know why I am the way I am. I’ve tried to seek help recently and it hasn’t worked. It’s like trying to force yourself into the middle of a rubber band ball. The NHS passed me on to someone who passed me on to someone. Every time I have to start from the start explaining the surface level problems, but nobody digs any deeper. They have passed me onto housing help now. That’s not what I want, I want someone to help me find out who I’m supposed to be. Why am I the way I am and what can do to want to be here, to experience life.

I don’t know why I’m even writing this. Maybe it will end up being my suicide note when they find me. Who am I kidding, I’m too scared to ever act on these feelings. This started as something I could record to send to therapy when they ask, ‘what’s wrong with you?’ and I just carried on writing, though I could never afford it. Maybe when I get kicked out of my house it will be the thing that tips me over the end. Just wanted to write how I feel down. So if anything did ever happen, people would know why. Maybe it will be something I can look upon in happier times. I doubt it though. #MentalHealth #Depression #Suicide

Author's Remark: I originally wrote this for myself, but ultimately decided to share it on here and Reddit. Far too many people have been through similar battles with healthcare.
My therapist gave me a homework assignment; write a letter to the doctors I had before finding my current team. As I let the words flow, I realized that so many others probably feel exactly the same way I do. This letter will never make it to my doctors, but writing it helped me release something I have been carrying for over a decade. If any of this resonates with you, I hope it encourages you to do the same.

When you decided to become a doctor, you knew it was going to be years of schooling, residency, and a lot of money. You probably decided to be a doctor because you thought you would be helping people; why else would someone choose a career that takes years of schooling and thousands of dollars? You took an oath to do no harm. You wanted to help people, but the system isn’t always built for that, and I get it. You got into medicine to help, not realizing you’d have patient quotas and only around 15 minutes with each person you see. How can you possibly help people on a 15-minute time limit? I can tell you that it’s not an ideal time frame to see patients, but that listening to what they have to say is probably a good start.

I came to you so many times in hope of getting help. You told me it was anxiety, my diet, my exercise, my weight… Anything and everything you could use to dismiss me. I suffered for over ten years with chronic whole-body symptoms. You said my headaches meant I needed to see a neurologist, joint pain meant seeing a rheumatologist, debilitating stomach problems meant going to a gastroenterologist, and severe cramping meant going to a gynecologist. So many visits to the doctor, so much bloodwork, so many different labs and procedures. Did you think I wanted attention? Did you think I wanted to spend so much money and free time talking to you for fun? Did you ever stop to think that, maybe, this wasn’t in my head? Maybe a young woman who has a laundry list of symptoms across her whole body may have something wrong? Maybe I should stop trying to treat symptoms with meds, refer her to every specialist under the sun, and look at the bigger picture on why she feels this way? No.

I spent over ten years of my life going to doctors to try and figure out why I felt the way that I do. I left a dream job and career field I was passionate about, and quite frankly really good at, because I was too sick to be working on an ambulance running 911 calls for 12-15 hours straight; I cried when I had to send my letter of resignation. I had to leave early from not one, but TWO bachelorette trips because I got severely ill. I love going out and riding my motorcycle, and it is one of the things that brings me joy; I could ride for hundreds of miles in a weekend, but I became intolerant to heat and worry about being too far from home because having flares is crippling. I carry a mini pharmacy of rescue meds in my bag everywhere I go now. I have severe anxiety about going out in any capacity because of the fear that a flare will cripple me. I watch my husband fight tooth and nail going to doctors with me because they take a man more seriously than the woman living with the illness. I have had to grieve the person I was, give up things I love and plan my life around my illnesses that debilitate me, all while you tell me its anxiety, IBS and that you can’t do anything.

I now have an amazing team of understanding doctors that have taken the time to listen and take me seriously. I am pushing and advocating for myself and my life. The craziest thing has happened; I got a diagnosis. I suspected this was part of my problem all along, but you didn’t want to listen or look at the big picture. I have a diagnosis that has comorbidities that will likely also be diagnosed now, and I have treatment options to help my quality of life improve. I have hope now that I will be able to get back to feeling like myself and living my life how I want. I have hope because someone took the time to listen, look at the bigger picture, and not just write me off or send me to the next specialist.

I will say, your gaslighting has caused me more trauma than I care to admit. When I received a diagnosis, I was happy at first; I felt like things were finally clicking into place, finally making sense. A day or two went by, and while my family wanted to celebrate me finally having an answer, I started wondering, “do I actually deserve the diagnosis?”. I questioned if I was sick enough, in enough pain, or if my diagnosis fits; then reality hit and I looked at all I have lost. I see that I do deserve the diagnosis. I have lost so much of myself to being sick; I have had to cancel plans, miss major life events, missed career opportunities, and had to experience a level of loneliness and isolation I wouldn’t wish on anyone, all because I wasn’t taken seriously.

I know this is only the beginning of my journey back to myself. I know there will be bumps and things will suck at times, but that’s just life. I have hope now for continuing my care and rebuilding parts of what I lost. I have lost too much of my life to invisible illnesses, but I won’t lose anymore. Now is the time to rebuild and have hope; thanks to an amazing support system and doctors that listen and care, I can start that after over a decade of suffering. You had all the puzzle pieces, just like they did, but they didn’t dismiss me. You probably thought I was a hypochondriac, and I can see why you might think so, truly. Had you put your opinions aside, listened to my symptoms, pain, and read my charts, you could have seen there was something real going on. I know you are crunched for time, but you can listen to your patients and take them seriously in the time you do have. After a decade, I have some answers and it’s no thanks to you. At the end of the day, you did no harm, right?

#heds #adhd #chronicillness #medicalgaslighting

The cracks began where trust should live—

I broke the vows, took more than gave,

let silence fester, lies I’d give

to hide the self I couldn’t save.

ADHD, depression—names

for all the static in my head.

But pain explained is not the same

as pain endured. The words I’ve said

(and didn’t say) became a wall.

Now every stumble, every fall—

she catalogs with surgical care:

the tone, the time, the unpaid care,

the way I breathe, the way I sit.

My flaws, a script she won’t forget.

I know I broke her. Know the cost.

But god, the silence makes me small.

Each try to heal, each step I’ve lost—

she meets with, “You. You feel it all.

Your feelings always come in first.”

And maybe that’s the curse, the worst:

I try to speak a small hurt’s name—

she turns it back into my shame.

So am I narcissist? Just lost?

A man who broke what mattered most,

now flinching at the daily frost?

My brain just aches. My heart’s a ghost.

I want to get better. I swear I do.

But how when every word I use

feels like a weapon turned on me—

no room to breathe, no truce, no sea

to wash this low, this lonely through?

Fuck.