My gambling is becoming out of hand lately and i really feel its changiny core as a person it all started when i got a job at a nearby gambling establishment and to cut a long story short i started to gamble because of my employment and now i feel like it is taking over my life and more important things are taking a back seat. i'm new to the site so any help/advice by more experienced gamblers would greatly help thank you.

From what I have been told, I was talking and walking by 9 months old. Perhaps it is an exaggeration, but I can attest to the ease I have experienced in school, with dealing with problems, and assessing the “right” behavior in situations.

I have had one imaginary friend, from what I can remember, since I was about two years old. I remember when he first knocked on the door, a back door with a mud room in my house, and I let him in. I would tease my Dad that he was my boy friend. He kept me wonderful company and was an enlightening, safe harbor. I remember another time when someone entered through this same door. I remember that I was handed a stuffed animal by this man, but I cannot recall any more.

When I was seven, I remember feeling sure that I could survive on my own, if only my parents would let me alone. In kindergarten, I could read chapter books and would forge my mother’s signature on the homework list each week. I remember wanting the independence from my mother to moderate my own life.

My favorite thing to do at that time was read. I had a children’s encyclopedia and learned about sexual reproduction in this fashion. I discovered an obsession with looking at Michael Angelo’s “David” sculpture. I would sit and look at it for different durations each day.

Between seven and nine, my parents split up (though, I had suspected it for over a year). At this time I began having very sexual, very vivid dreams. One dream I remember was of my self in a hotel room, seducing a much older, ugly man. I believe between six and seven I was sexually abused again, by the same close friend of my family that had been in my life much earlier, and that I had let into my home through the mud room door. I cannot remember it happening, but I have returned to a certain event when I remember I was alone with this person, and there are blank spots in my memory.

I started touching my self with my dolls or stuffed animals around this time, I don’t really understand why. I would “tell” my sister’s fortune by looking into my crystal ball. Around the same time I stopped feeling normal. When I saw myself in the mirror, I felt an intense, unnatural feeling. It was almost disgust. It increased when I had on feminine clothing. I still feel it, sometimes seemingly random and sometimes by noticeable triggers, to this day.

When I was nine, I realized that my father was not scary. I saw that he would raise his voice to intimidate me- and, I saw that it was just that- and that I was capable of it too. This led me to a strange relationship with aggression. I began to “dominate” my siblings, feel an anger that was confusing and overwhelming. I felt as if something in me was red fire hot, and I had no control over it, nor the ability to stop it, nor the knowledge of how it started. I felt like a victim while I victimized other people. And still, though less frequently and with more control to mask it, I have this sensation of being a puppet. At this time I also began trying to study witch craft and wanted to be a vampire. I would mediate and attempt to make spells.

By the time I was eleven, I was not only participating in on-line sex and wishing to be kissed by a boy at school, but I was finding attendance at school more difficult, as well as having increased bouts with anxiety and depression. This only worsened as I got older. And by fourteen, I was full blown suicidal. My parents attempted to get me help, but the doctors, therapists, teachers, and medication were so easily manipulated that no one could touch me.

I would get into these crazed, raging fits of frustration and aggression. I would yell, scream, shake, cry, weep, sob; I was frightening. I started “cutting” which was mostly scratching. I started messing around with older guys. I started lying and going out and trying to drink/party as much as possible. When my father would have a chance to sit and talk to me, he would try to hug me, but I would yell insults until he would give up. I remember ...

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I find that my hardest days are days like today where I wake up just loathing myself. From the moment my eyes open the flood of negative thoughts drown out any positive I can see. In these times even my children laughing and smiling outside my bedroom door cause me tears.
I feel alone, which is hard to do when you live with five other people but there it is. I can never seem to pin point just why some days the pain is so overwhelming and all consuming that lasting the next five minutes seems impossible.
I am worthless, unloved, and discarded. These are the thoughts that are an unending cycle in my mind. The more I attempt to distract myself from these thoughts the more invading they seem.
Any advice out there?

I self harmed for two years. I began starting a new coping skill that has been really effective; eating. Although, I'm worried because I had a slight eating disorder before, eating might draw me back in it agaian.

So i've never written a post ever on any forum, ever, and since things have changed for me recently, i'd decide to give this a go. Might not come back to this but i want to get whats in my head out there and see if anyone has anything to say about me and my problems.
My problems: I care about my family too much. I'm almost certain that I have depression, mild anxiety and a myriad of other mental health problems but I've never been properly diagnosed because I care about my family too much to have them worry about me at all. I also come from a culture where mental health is not a 'real' problem, but rather a thing for the weak or the bored.
I think about death a lot BUT i'm not suicidal. I'm fine with death and i'm not scared of it but I would never be able to go through with it as long as my parents are alive because I can't put them through all that pain. If they died though, I would have not much of a reason to keep going, but that is not the point of this post.
I've always been very aware of my issues and i've always been able to talk myself down in my head like there was a third person that tells the two conflicting voices in my head what to do. This third voice sounds like a trusty friend, insightful parent, or even a advising counsellor, when i think about it. This voice knows what people views as normal and suppresses my arguing voices to make me seem 'normal'. It usually takes effort but I know it works because everyone thinks I'm still this smiley, happy girl, which really hasn't been the case since about 7 years ago (when my first encounter of death in the family happened)
My dog (who's been with me for almost 15 years) died yesterday and I was sad but it wasn't a fearful, regretful sadness. It was more of a "i'll miss you" and "we've spent good time together" happy sadness, though it was really sudden and shocking. I still miss him but I don't think I'm doing too bad. My parents on the other hand haven't been able to sleep, eat, not spontaneously cry, and not talk about morbidity every couple of hours. They also hug me a lot because they think its comforting for me, and probably themselves too.
I guess what I'm saying is that is it weird that I'm so aware of what I'm almost sure I have? Does this mean I don't have these mental health issues because it doesn't really affect my daily life and I know what triggers it, how to control it, and what works/doesn't work? Do other people with mental health issues experience this too?
An analogy (if you're still reading): I deal with my problems like dealing with my period. When it starts, I know what I can do to not let it leak out for the world to see. I know what the best way to deal with the dirty pad/tampon is, to chuck it out (feeling all my feelings/non-feelings but in a physical location where no one will see me then throw them out or at least leave them where they can't be seen). I clean up after myself and flush the bloody mess away (make sure no one can physically see or pick out that I have problems at any point of any time)
What do you think?