I don’t want to to be here.

I want it to end.

I don’t want to kill myself. I don’t really want to die. I just don’t want to exist.

I’m so sick of feeling like shit all the time. I hate feeling like a failure at life, like I’ve never accomplished anything.

Whenever I feel like I’m making progress, something happens that sets me back and feels like the world is crashing down around me.

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I came across this article, which I found interesting.

9 women share horror stories about being shamed for their mental health — by doctors

I posted a comment on it, but thought it was also make sense to share here too. I’ve shared some of this before, so it may not be all new.


I’m actually shocked by how many of those doctors are women. Although, part of my experience involved a female doctor, so maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.

Growing up, I knew very little about mental illness. I later suspected i had been very depressed in high school, but I still didn’t entirely know what that meant. I also know now that I have been anxious for basically my entire life.

The only reason I never got help as a kid was because my parents were constantly dismissing my feelings as being overly dramatic or sensitive or whatever. I learned to bottle everything up because no one cared enough about my feelings to help me sort through them.

When I was in grade 8 or 9, I was suffering from severe chronic stomach pain. My parents finally took me to the doctor. He ordered a bunch of tests, even throwing out “the ‘C’ word” (cancer) as a potential thing to prepare for, even though he didn’t think that’s what it was. After tons of unpleasant tests and still no explanation, I overheard the doctor tell my dad that it might be all in my head. Nothing else happened after that. Eventually it got better – and by better, I mean more bearable – then happened less and less frequently and a few years later it only happened occasionally.

Several years later, while at college, I started experiencing heart palpitations and frequent headaches. The on campus doctor ordered several tests and after a few months of regular follow-ups, she said that it was probably just stress.

A few years later, I was extremely stressed out with work and basically had a meltdown while listening to a podcast in my car where Wil Wheaton was talking about his experience with anxiety and depression.

It was as if he was talking about me, describing my experiences. Suddenly it all made sense. The immense sadness, the extreme irritably, the built up anger inside. All the things I’d bottled up since I was a child has a reason.

I went to the doctor very soon after and was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder and depression. Later also diagnosed with social anxiety by a psychiatrist.

Actually, that psychiatrist told me, flat out, that I was “definitely not depressed,” after talking to me for only 15 minutes. I happened to be feeling not too bad that day. However my family doctor knew better and never made me go back to see him.

Because of all those experiences, I wasn’t diagnosed until I was 26. If anyone had listened or cared when I was younger, I easily could have been diagnosed with anxiety when I was in elementary school, and maybe could have avoided having my depression triggered when I was 13.

It’s almost two years later and I’m still having a hard time. My anxiety has calmed down a bit after having CBT, but my depression recently came back rather severely, with no trigger, so I’m still trying to figure things out and find the right medication. I’ve just started my 5th antidepressant, and it’s only been one year and 10 months since listening to that podcast that lead me to getting help. Thankfully, my current family doctor is excellent and actually makes me feel like he cares. He understands that I don’t want to be heavily medicated but I also want to be happy. He’s encouraged me to try other things as well.

I’ve been working at getting physically ready to participate in Ride Don’t Hide this Sunday, and I’ve been taking my dog, Mosley, out for bike rides with me. He’s pay border collie, so he had tons of energy and is very athletic – even with his little Corgi legs. He’s also quite strong for his size. People are always shocked at how strong he is. And he’s very smart, even though he is 50% Shih Tzu. He does have Shih Tzu moments though.

I love that Mosley has the energy to run a whole kilometre beside me on the bike, but sometimes he’s too strong.

Tonight’s adventures…

First, he pulled me from the driveway, to the end of the corner and across the street, and onto the sidewalk.

Then, when we started back on the road, but he decided to run on the grass between the road and the sidewalk. Then, he decided he had to poo – even though I gave him plenty of opportunity before I got on the bike. I couldn’t break fast enough at the speed we were going. I hit the end of his leash because I could drop it quick enough, pulled him about a metre forward (glad he was on the grass, cuz it could have hurt his paws) while he was mid-squat, my handle bars turned slightly as I came almost to a stop, lost my balance and feel over, onto the road.

I say up and looked to see where Mosley was, and he was looking a little startled, not sure what to do, but continued to walk, half squatted on the road.

I sat there laughing for a minute. No cars coming. My mom was down the street with her two Shih Tzus. She asked if I was OK and all I managed to say, between laughing was, “Mosley’s pooping on the road!” She burst out laughing too.

It took me about another minute to get up, just because I could get over how stupid the whole thing was and I couldn’t stop laughing.

Damage assessment

Thankfully, only minor damage.

  • Scraped the palm of my right hand.
  • Scraped my right knee.
  • Got dirty patch on my left calf that I didn’t notice until later. I can only assume it came from my left leg landing on top of the pedal.
  • My right arm is a little sore.

PHOBIA..?

My arm is probably only sore because any time I think I’m falling (no matter the circumstance), my entire body tenses up in attempt to prevent me from falling at all costs, and I landed on my right hand.

In the past, this tensing up has resulted in many muscle strains.

I sprained my knee a couple winters ago, because I slipped and DIDN’T fall. Somehow I managed to twist my bad knee really weird while attempting to keep myself upright.

This tends to make it feel like I’m falling in slow motion. But it’s always too quick for me to think about allowing myself to relax my muscles and fall a certain way.

I think it’s a bit of a phobia I developed in figure skating, many years ago. I got it in my head, when I was quite young, that falling was bad. After a skating lesson, I thought that little to no falls was more of an accomplishment than landing a jump or perfecting a dance or skills pattern that I planned to to test for.

My last year before I quit, I was determined to land one particular jump I couldn’t quite master and it took a VERY conscious effort to NOT tense my entire body as I went stepped into it. By the time I finished that season, I think I’d only landed with a complete rotation one time, which was extremely discouraging and ultimately I decided to quit, even after doing a spring session.

Ride Don’t Hide

Regardless of whether I am afraid of falling, it’s still fun and I’m really looking forward to this Sunday!

I’m participating in the Niagara CMHA’s 5km ride. I start at 11am this Sunday.

Also, I’m $110 short of my fundraising goal. Head over to my Ride Don’t Hide profile page to sponsor me!