Isolation, loneliness, low self-worth...

Hello, I've never really used something like this before, but I thought it would be a really nice way for me to get my feelings out. I am going to be completely and entirely honest/transparent with everything that is written down. Thank you to anyone for reading, and I apologize if this is extremely lengthy. I have started writing this at 12:30 PM.

My name is Grant. I'm 21 years old, turning 22 in January. I have had a continual history of depression, anxiety, manic depression, low self-worth, and high amounts of self-loathing for at least 9 years of my life. I stand at 5 feet, 10 inches, but I only weigh about 130 pounds. I'm shy and introverted. I'm gay and only came out to my family several months ago - they do not hate me for being gay. I was verbally and physically bullied in middle school and high school, because I guess that's what happens to the shy, nervous kids who keep themselves and don't bother other people. Those events sent me into one, long round of a very deep deep depression that resulted in me not even attending high school in my sophomore and junior years. I wasn't given any adequate care, and although my parents did what they thought was best, nothing helped, and I only pretended it did to put their minds at ease, even though I was still in a lot of pain inside. I saw a therapist for a few months during that time, and he did nothing to help me. Again, I only pretended that he did to make my parents not worry. I would have times where I didn't know what to talk about, and he would only sit there in silence, not striking up any conversation or topic. During my last session, when I was only 14 years old, this therapist attempted to rape me in his office. I threatened to scream if he did anything further, and he backed off. The session ended early, and I later (and finally) told my father that I felt like this therapist wasn't helping, and we stopped seeing him. I never told my family about what happened during that session.

When I started college, I was in a relationship with someone several years older than me. I was 18, and he was 24. He was a very good man. He was protective, kind, caring, handsome, charismatic... everything. But even though I loved him, I slowly felt as though I was beginning to see him more as an older brother figure than a lover, but I still stayed with him for over a year, because we made each other happy and enjoyed each other's company. At one point, he had to leave me. Not because he didn't love me anymore, but he had to move out of state to take care of his parents who are both suffering with serious illnesses. We were both sad, but I knew that this was obviously the best choice to make. He asked me if I wanted to continue the relationship long-distance, but I told him that I wanted him to start a new page of his life in this place and see where things go. I also admitted to him that I felt like I was seeing him more as an older brother and that even though I enjoyed his company, our interests were way too different. He was outdoorsy, extroverted, and confident, while I enjoyed being indoors and reading/playing video games while possessing little to no self-confidence. In the end, I didn't feel good enough for him. So, that ended. It ended in a sad but very mutual and civil way. I was glad that I could call this person a former lover and now a very good friend. His name is David.

Some time passed, and I met someone online, Emmett. I thought he was attractive, and he seemed like a nice person. I felt lonely with David gone, and Emmett kept me good company. We talked, laughed, and had a great time. Then, my feelings towards him became romantic, and I confessed how I felt on a Skype call. I was so nervous, I'd never been the one to do that to anyone before. But, he reciprocated my feelings, and we became an (online) couple. That didn't stop us from video chatting on Skype whenever we could and keeping each other company. I didn't feel lonely. I was feeling happy. For some reason, my feelings towards Emmett really felt like those of genuine, romantic love, as opposed to the sort of brotherly love I had for David. I just wanted us to be happy. I wanted him to know that I loved him. I visited him in the summer, after my spring semester of classes was over. It was the first time we met in person, and I felt so happy. So many feelings rushed into me when I saw him waiting for me in the airport, and all I could do was hug him tightly and cry. Although he's a year older than me, he was a virgin at the time, and I did everything I could to make his first experience as comfortable as possible. I stayed with him in his apartment for three and a half weeks, and I felt like the happiest man alive. I got to see him, touch him, hold him, smell him, kiss him, eat dinner with him, hold his hand, go to places with him. It was everything I wanted, and I had my moments where I would start to cry out of happiness.

Then I had to leave. My time was up, and I had to go home. It was extremely painful, but I knew we would see each other again. We went back to talking on Skype, but I really missed his presence. In the winter, on New Year's Eve, he came to visit me and stayed with me and my family. He got to experience my side of the country, and I was once again extremely happy. I showed him my friends, we walked to the park, we held hands and didn't care what people thought. I was nervous, too. Just days before his flight, he mentioned to me that he might be losing interest in me. I panicked, because I thought everything was fine, but he told me that when he would come to see me, he would see how things worked out. After he returned home, he told me that I had nothing to worry about, and that he really did love me. It was a hard time for me, but I soon breathed a very heavy sigh of relief. I promised to see him again in the summer.

This time, I stayed with him for a month and a half - six weeks, just this past summer. It was a month and a half of bliss. We slept next to each other, I would make us breakfast, we went out to restaurants, we saw fireworks, we went to festivals. I felt like I was living with him temporarily, and it was amazing. I would kiss him, hug him, and tell him just how much I love him, that he was my Emmett. That I was so happy to be with someone like him. I stayed from the beginning of June to the middle of July, and I had to go home once again. That is when things slowly began to spiral downward.

I only had about a month left of my summer break, and I really wanted to spend time with him. We talked on Skype, but not as much, because he said he was busy. When I would ask him to please spend a weekend with me, he kept telling me that he had plans with friends. I only wanted to spend a weekend, but I was never given that. Every time, it was the same thing, "I'm busy, we'll try for next week." But it never happened. Then, he had to leave for a few days, because one of his uncles had passed away. I wished him well, and that I would see him in a few days. Then, on Saturday, August 21st, he came home and was back on Skype. I was so happy to see him, and I hoped he had been doing well. But something was wrong. He wasn't talking. He wasn't saying anything to me. He looked distant. I didn't understand. I asked him what was wrong, and he quickly replied, "I'm not happy." And then, everything fell on top of me. He told me that he wasn't happy, that when he was driving to see his family with his sister riding along with him, she asked about our relationship, and after telling her some things, she replied, "Well, it sounds like you're not happy, you two are never going to work out, and you should just break up with him." He decided to take that advice, and I was left completely stunned. I thought we were fine. I thought everything was great. I had just seen him a month ago and stayed with him for six weeks. What about all of that? What happened? But things only got worse from there.

I tried to get a better idea of what was going on and why he wanted to leave me, but he told me that he didn't owe me an explanation. He told me that when he talked with his mother and sister about me, they said that I would "never change". That I would "never change" from my history of depression, anxiety, manic depression, etc. As much as I tried to make us both happy and loved, I would apparently "never change". He hung up the call on me, and all I could do was cry. I cried, and cried, and cried, and cried. I had no one to hold me. No one to hug me. My mother was on a trip out of the country, and my father was home. But neither knew that I was gay. When I went to see him, and he went to see me, I told them that I was seeing a good friend that I've known for a long time. I didn't want to be alone, so I went to my father, and I cried. I cried, and cried, and cried. I told him about everything, and he consoled me, which was nice. I didn't sleep that night, and the next day, I spoke to Emmett on Skype again, once again asking for a better understanding. He told me that he wants to do things now that he's free from me. I asked him what, and he replied, "I want to fuck other people and try smoking weed." BAM. Hit right in the face. I asked him what kind of person that he wants, and he replied, "I don't want someone with anxities like you." BAM. Another hit in the face. I tried to speak up for myself and tell him how all of this wasn't right, and he replied, "Shut the fuck up." BAM BAM BAM. Gunshots right to my chest. Why? Why was this happening? Why did this person that I loved for two years suddenly flip a switch and start hurting me like this? Why? He hung up the call on me once again, and I was left all alone, sitting in my bed in despair.

When I should have left him alone, I still tried to call him. I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted to know. This couldn't have been it. Two years together, and it would all be thrown away just like that? No, that's impossible. I couldn't let that happen. Not with someone that I loved. But everytime, it was the same thing. "Shut up. I don't want to talk to you. Go away. I don't want you to be relevant to my life anymore. Stop it. I'm going now, bye." Everytime. Everytime I was met with this. I was met with hurtful comments being thrown at my face and him flirting with other men on social media. I was torn to ribbons. This was someone I loved? This is how he is choosing to treat me now? What did I do? Do I deserve this? I tried reaching out, but nothing worked, and then my depression hit in full force. I felt invalidated. I felt silenced. I felt worthless. I felt like garbage. All I wanted was to go away. I just wanted to die. And so, on Labor Day, I attempted suicide, with him on Skype. Before that, there was a small period in which I told him that I was willing to meet halfway with him, that I wanted another chance to make things work out. That I just wanted us to be good again. He told me he would think about it. But on that Labor Day evening, he told me "no". And when I asked him why, he told that he didn't believe I would change, and that I would fail on my promise. I was set over the edge, and I pulled out a knife hidden under my pillow, holding it to my throat. He asked me why the hell I was doing this, and I said that I just wanted to talk.

Now, I'm going to completely honest here: I did not do that to manipulate him into changing his mind. I would never do something so horrible like that. No. What I wanted was for him to listen to me, and that I didn't want to die alone. I didn't want to bleed out and die a bloody mess all by myself in my bed. I feared the loneliness. I didn't want that at all. He told me, "Then talk". And I tried to think of what to say, still holding the knife to my throat and tears streaming down my face. I told him, "You were so childish at times in the relationship. You got so defensive, and you couldn't take any critic-" "SHUT THE FUCK UP. YOU'RE THE ONE BEING CHILDISH RIGHT NOW." All of that, right to my face. All of that, said to me. I cried, and I panicked. I really wanted to die, but why couldn't I do it? Why couldn't I just pierce my throat and let it be over with? WHY? I asked him, "Is it going to hurt?" He replied, "I don't know." And hung up the call, leaving me all alone. I panicked more. I didn't want to be alone. I really didn't want to die alone. I called him on his phone frantically, but he didn't pick up. I called and called, and still nothing. Finally, he called me. He told me that he called the cops, and I panicked more. I panicked more. I asked him why he did that, and he told me that he did it "to save your life". He hung up, and I tried calling, but no answer. I didn't know what to do. I cried and cried. My sister called, and I cried. I cried and panicked. I looked out my window and saw the cops. I wanted to die. I heard them ring the bell. I wanted die. My dog barked, and my parnents let them in. I wanted to die. I heard them going up the stairs. I wanted to die. I heard a knock at the door and officer announce his name. I WANTED TO DIE.

But I couldn't do it. I don't know why, but I couldn't do it. Instead, I opened the door, knife still in hand, and I told to drop it. I did so, and I was put in handcuffs and taken downstairs. I felt numb. I felt distant. Everything was going by at ridiculous speeds, and the next thing I knew, I was in an ambulance being taken to the emergency room. I had to give blood, I had to do all of these things, before I was placed in a hospital bed. No family. No friends. Just a dark room at 1:00 AM. I was alone. My head hurt. My heart hurt. I couldn't sleep. The next evening, I was involuntarily admitted to a mental health hospital, where I spent four days there. I was surrounded by people that scared me. I was alone, and all I could do to keep myself from going crazy was call people. I called him, I called Emmett. I called to apologize, to tell him I was sorry for doing such a silly thing in front of him. He didn't care about my apology. He didn't care. But I begged, I pleased with him to let me talk to him while I was here, and he agreed. I spoke to him and other people once a day, and I was relieved I could talk with him sort of normally, as normally as possible. I was then released from the hospital, after no access to my computer, phone, or anything, for almost a week. I was back home, and I called him. I called him to say that I was home. And all he said was, "That's good to know" before adding, "You know, why are you even calling me? I didn't even want you calling me in the hospital, but you still did." I had the phone hung up again, and I was alone. I tried calling more, and that was just stupid. The day after I came back from the hospital, he announced on social media, "By the way, I'm single now. :)" And I was so hurt. I called a friend of his, Alexa, who I had been speaking to before going to the hospital, because she also had depression, and she consoled me. I told her that I was in the hospital and was back home. She consoled me. Then I called Emmett, and he yelled at me. He said, "Why are you calling my friends? Stop calling my friends. Get out of my life. Get out." And I was yelled again, and again, and again. "How do you know she even liked listening to what you had to say? You were just putting your own problems on her. You've only known her for a year, I've known her for four years." I had the phone hung up on me again. I tried to call Alexa, but she never answered. I tried to text her, but she never answered. She left me. She abandoned me.

I went back to class, and I had difficulty doing anything. Everything was on my mind, everything. That I was called irrelevant, that I was told to shut up, everything. From someone that I loved and cared for. I eventually had to drop my classes in the begining of October, because it was to difficult to focus. I still tried to reach out to him, but I was met with pain. I just wanted him to apologize. I just wanted to be validated. And I never got that. It took my family asking him to apologize, before he finally called me, and claimed that he was sorry. He cried, and then later added that he thought of me "a child with a new and exciting toy that he eventually got bored and didn't what to do with it." I didn't know how process that, and the call ended. A few days later, I did process it, and I was extremely hurt, so I called him again to let him know, and everything went back to square one. I was yelled at. I was told to shut up. I was met with more pain and hurt, with him telling me that he felt so happy with me gone, that he felt free from me. Why? Why?

Things got harder. My depression got worse. My anxiety got worse. I hated myself. I hated myself more and more. I distant and quiet with my family and friends. I couldn't trust anybody. I stayed in my room and bed, sleeping and checking thing on my laptop. I didn't want to do anything. I wanted to waste away. I felt my own sanity slipping away from mind, and I was continuing this downward spirial. Eventually, I was taken to see a psychiatrist and therapist. I prescribed medication, and I've been seeing this new therapist once a week. She's very nice, a lot nicer than the previous therapist. I felt like I was getting a bit better. I had someone to talk to, and my really, really bad episodes of horrible, seizure-like anxiety/panic attacks were going down. I felt a little better for a while, but it's all gone again, these past few weeks, and I don't know why. It was Emmett's birthday in November, I sent him a present. He never said anything to me. He never said "thank you", he never acknowledged me, when I just wanted to do something nice for him and show I was thinking about him. I was still put down and invalidated. I had to recently read him answer a question that someone asked him. "Who's the biggest guy that you've kissed?" "Unfortunately, the biggest guy I kissed was someone with a smaller body type than me." It was unfortunate that he kissed me, because I didn't fit the body type that he liked. I shared intimate moments, and it was all unfortunate. I hated myself more and more. I felt awful. I felt so hurt. I felt so betrayed. Everything, more and more, only hurt me. Every comment, every word. And I didn't understand WHY? Why would you say these things? Why would you do this? Why would you kick someone while they're down? Why would say that someone with mental illnesses that they've been struggling with isn't wanted? Why would you think of someone as a toy that you got bored with? Why, why, why, why? 

I haven't seen my friends in over a month now. I'm cold, distant, and abrasive with my family who are only trying to help and are starting to reach the end of their rope. I'm not eating, and I may have to be hospitilized due to malnutrition. I don't want to die, but I don't want to do anything. I sit here, alone, hurt, confused, upset, everything. I feel like an idiot. It's one person, but I didn't think this one person could say so many things that had been deepest fears of ever hearing. That I'm not wanted because of my illnesses. That my body is an issue. That my sensitivity is a problem. That I'd never change. My mind is slowly beginning to accept these things at truth, when I know I shouldn't, but I still can't help it. I never asked for or wanted pity. All I wanted was to be understood. All I wanted was to be validated. I loved you, I truly did. I would have done anything for you. I was here. I was there. So, why? Why do I feel as though I'm fading out of existence? Why do I feel myself drowning, with water filling my lungs? Why?

When there's nothing to left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire. Godspeed.

Thank you for reading.

User Comments