I've been depressed most of 56 years, and enough is enough.

Briefly, I'm a product of extreme neglect and emotional, physical, and sexual abuse.  Made my first suicide attempt at age 6; the second at age 16.  I essentially raised myself, depending on the sources of information available to me: mostly books, some television, old movies; I also learned how to live by watching others; I lived a great deal of time in my head.  As a perfectionist, I was successful at school and at work.  As a person, I was overweight, controlling, angry, insecure, immature, lost, and depressed.  I''ve been in therapy for 27 years.  I've made some great progress.  But somehow it always comes back to this: a time when I become so tired, I can hardly stand; when I can't tell whether I'm dissociated or not; when I lose things three and four times a day; when even shopping doesn't make me feel better; when I feel like I simply can't keep trying any longer; when I understand that the life I'm living is so far from the life I wanted - any of the lives I've imagined - it no longer seems worth the effort.  When I was born, my mother left the hospital without me, and I didn't go "home" for six months.  And now, at age 62, my 76-year-old husband daily grows to like me less until I fear one day he will hate me.  I will have lived from the day I was born, to the day I died, without any one who loved me.  Looking back, I can't imagine why I worked so hard.

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