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I have just seen your Facebook post. I suffer with anxiety and depression. I have suffered from childhood and the meds I take (I have tried many) either take away my ability to orgasm or make it hard (4 hours and cramp later)  now I have abnormal cells and have tested positive for HPV. My anxiety is going through the roof. 

Anonymous Post.

This story was sent to us.  The person sharing it wishes to be kept anonymous but hopes that this story can help someone else share their own story. Please no judgment.  Thank you!


Ok, it's really hard for me to open up and tell people my problems, but I'll just start from the beginning.... Up until 15 I was spoiled, I had everything, until my parents decided to get divorced. My world came to a stop. Worse, as the years went on it was brutal, my parents came to despise each other, we lost our house, our family, everything. Believe it or not, the easiest part of the whole mess was when I realized my father left because he was gay. However, it wasn't for my mother. Living in our apartment together started to wear us both down. We lost any relationship we had together, there was blame, resentment, no understanding, no compassion. It was my "teenage years with mom" x10. She would call the the police on me for doing the dishes late at night, the apartment was a disaster, I never wanted to be home. In the beginning, I would go out with boys, I wasn't a "slut", I didn't sleep around, I guess that was the problem. When I was 16 I was sexually and emotionally abused by my "boyfriend", I've never told anyone this, it was so damaging to my mentality, my strength, I just wanted to be cared for, as we all do. I don't want to be judged, I didn't at the time either but he made me do things that I think about now and get repulsed at the thought. After that I was scared to 'date'.... of men in general. I couldn't understand how my mom and now my dad, could be with such a terrifying, controlling gender. I started to focus all my energy on work. I picked up 2 jobs first year of college and went to school full time with the hopes to move out. By 20 I was out in my own place trying to support myself. I felt guilty for leaving my mom, after all awful words and names were exchanged, hating her for not understanding, I still love my mom...and my dad...College was a blur it was just working to try to pay rent and bare minimal grades. I tried, I did, but like everything else it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough for mom, for dad, for anyone. My depression and anxiety isn't "typical" I don't wear black, I don't shut myself out. My anxiety isn't fear of people, and social encounters, it's the opposite. I enjoy making people laugh, feeling like people are there, like I have a lot of friends, my anxiety stems from people leaving me, feeling alone, not being good enough. I'm anything but a typical post on here but I hope someone will understand where I come from. I'm sick of everyone giving me the it'll be ok, I want someone, like me, to tell me they made it and they're finally able to be proud of themselves, like I want to be.

First anonymous post!

This story was sent to us.  The person sharing it wishes to be kept anonymous but hopes that this story can help someone else share their own story. Please no judgment.  Thank you!

I’m not entirely sure where to start, I just know I want to share my story in case anyone else has or is going through the same or similar thing. 

I’ve been struggling with depression for as long as I can remember.  Some days are worse than others, but it’s a constant battle every day.  I’m an inverted person, so I will hold everything in before I decide to tell someone what im really feeling. 

From what I know, when I was born my father denied I was his.  I think when I was about 3 years old I finally met him.  He was in my life when he wanted to be.  I remember as a little girl, I would sing waiting for him to come, and he would never show.  But the times he decided to show I had the best times.  We would go to the city, he’d buy me whatever I wanted.  To a little girl, that’s heaven. 

I lived with my mother and brother.  It was always us 3.  My brother and I have different fathers, and I think I struggled most with that as a child and in my teenage years.  I never understood why my brother got to have a father who actually cared about him, loved him, and I didn’t.   I blamed myself for as long as I could remember.  Still to this day, when I let myself think about it, I just don’t understand my father’s reasoning, and im sure I never will.  That is something I have come to terms with.  Knowing I will never know why he chose to not be in my life. The hard part was, my mom is gay.  What I mean by that is, I never had a step dad who could fill in the role of my father.  My older brother did what he could, but he was my brother, not father.  So many things happened that a lot of people don’t know.  I regret a lot of things I’ve done.  But at the same time I wouldn’t be the person I am today, without making those mistakes.  While we were young we moved a lot.  To different towns, different houses.  I remember the first time I decided to hurt myself.  We moved into this HUGE house.  Well it was huge to me.  I had such a big room.  My friend at the time had told me about something called “burning”.  Apparently it was a form of cutting, and since I was too afraid to cut, I tried to burn.  I honestly became almost addicted to the feel of it.  When I would see the red welt on my skin I would automatically cry.  I had no idea what was wrong with me.  Why couldn’t I be a normal person, with happy thoughts?  I was in 8^th grade at the time.  I remember soon after that, thinking about killing myself.  I was in the bathroom, and had a cup of bleach.  I was going to drink it.  Not sure if that actually kills you. But like I said I was in 8^th grade and thought it would.  I chickened out.  I couldn’t do it.  I had to find other places to burn myself because my arms were too obvious.  I couldn’t keep covering them.  I remember one time me and my brother were wrestling and he saw my stomach.  I had a mark on it, and at this point from what I remember my mother had found out about the burning.  So my brother knew about it.  He saw the mark and was almost disgusted.  I remember the look on his face.  Disgust and disappointment.  And it’s exactly how I felt about myself.  He never said that, but I knew he felt it.  In 9^th grade is when I started really acting out.  Drugs and sex, hanging out with the wrong people.  Running away.  I didn’t care what happened to me honestly.  I tried everything.  Didn’t care.  I was 18 when my mother disowned me for the first time.  I’ll never forget the look in her eyes when she told me she was done with me.  It was then that I had finally hit rock bottom.  I was sleeping on my friends couch.  Became a full blow alcoholic.  I would black out every night.  Had no care in the world.  I would wake up and start drinking immediately, and not stop until I was sleeping.  It was then that my husband came into my life.  I like to think he was sent to save me.  He came from a family of alcoholics and wouldn’t put up with it from me.  Granted he smoked a lot of weed, but it was better than drinking. And so I stopped drinking... Enrolled myself in school, and tried to make the best of my life.

We later moved in and started a life together.  I was 19 when we moved in. I was in school full time, and working part time.  I still struggled with depression.  My relationship with my mother at the time was just a hot mess.  I don’t think we ever really got along.  She did things.  I did things.  We both hurt each other, sometimes to the point of no return.  I remember the first time I got the call that she tried to kill herself.  My world stopped.  It was a Tuesday.  I remember because the weekend before that was a crazy weekend.  I was stuck at a friends for the weekend, and my mom had called that Sunday.  She was really upset, and I had a couple of drinks.  To say the conversation didn’t end well is an understatement.  I seriously remember telling my husband, and 2 friends, that I felt she was going to kill herself.  They all told me to shut up that I was over reacting.  Because she never tried that before.  And I was just being crazy.  2 days later I woke up early for work and looked at my phone.  I had missed calls and texts from my brother.  Once I read the one that say 911 emergency, I just knew.  At this point my mother and I were on bad terms.  But I did what most would do.  I put all that shit aside, and went to my mom.  I’ll never forget how it felt seeing her in that bed.  She just looked lost.  And the suicide letters.  I’ll never forget the pain I had when reading the letter addressed to me.  It’s a pain that could never be erased.  She promised it wouldn’t happen again, that she would get better for herself and for me and my brother.  The 2^nd time I got the call I died inside all over again.  This time was worse.  She was incoherent, and a bit manic in the hospital.  I remember talking with her telling her that she needs help.  She needs to do what’s right for herself and her family.  It’s always been my mom brother and myself.  They are my family.  Losing one of them would KILL ME.  I wouldn’t be able to handle it.  This past year I got a call I didn’t want to get.  My brother called me telling me Mom tried again.  She took 80 Tylenol p.m. and honestly all I could say was I was fucking mad.  I wanted to scream at her, tell her she was fucking selfish for putting us through this.  I hated her, because I couldn’t handle what she was doing to me.  All the while I wasn’t putting her into perspective. What it must feel like to be so depressed you not only want to die, but try to die.  It’s a hard thing to go through.  Having my own emotions of losing my mother vs. understanding her and what she is going through.  It’s very hard. And emotional, and tiring.  Thank god, everything is ok.  She is alive, and trying to be happy with what life throws her way.  I think today the thing I struggle with most is being scared.  I feel like one day I’ll get a call saying she’s actually gone, and I don’t think I can handle that.  I decided not too long ago to put myself into therapy.  Not just because of everything I’ve been through, but because I don’t want to keep it in anymore.  It was killing me daily to just keep my emotions at bay, so I didn’t look like the crazy person who couldn’t handle life. 

Today I still struggle with depression, anxiety and emotional issues, but I know that I can get through it.  Some days are bad, some are good. But I know I can get through it and survive them. I know with the help of my therapist, husband, family and friends, I'll be OK.  

It was really hard for me to write all of this, and I hope someone out there can gain even a little bit of strength from this story, and maybe share their own story.  Thank you for taking the time to listen to my story!

-Anonymous