This has been weighing on me for a while. In college, I suffered a bout of severe depression. I told my parents about it, and they just blew it off. No surprise really. I mean when I was in High School, my mother noticed that I was indulging in “unhealthy brooding”, which I described to my friends as “suffering from melancholy”, but was anything done? No. Nothing, save that I was indulged in my unhealthy brooding. and, I learned to not let them know. I cut myself. with a pen. I was going to be an actor, and didn’t want scars. so, I ‘slashed’ myself with bic pens.
In junior college, I made an attempt to get counseling, but the mental health pro I saw sat there with a dispassionate, “You bore me” attitude. I never sought help again. The episode of depression happened while I was at UC Davis. I forced myself to class, and no one mentioned the silent crying in class. I sat there. with tears rolling down my face and not one classmate asked if I was “OK”. The first clue no one cared
My second clue was when, in 1997, I called the nyc Suicide Prevention, and had the dickhead on the line tell me he had to end the call. apparently threatening to kill ones self is not an emergency to him.
In 2001, a 9/11 crisis counselor sent me to a shrink and, I was diagnosed with Personality Disorder NOS. Which was a few years before my diagnosis of ADHD in 2005. Now, the doctor diagnosing my ADHD never prescribed anything for me.
and, where am I now? right about where I was in 1984. Unmotivated. and unhappy. and, the First Underachiever in my family.