I like to use allegory or metaphor when it comes to the mental illnesses I'm suffering from. Whoever read my blogs or some of my posts know that I'm struggling with them and have been for most of my life.

Seeing life in grey. Depression. Like watering down a drink. It feels like even if you won a million bucks this morning, something sour in the afternoon will make your evening acrid.

Expecting something bad from good and expecting the worse from bad. Anxiety. You could get some good news during the day but you'd still worry about that little thing at the back of your mind. You could have 5 friends in your room but you'd feel uneasy if one of them has shifty eyes.

Binge eating disorder is basically eating your own emotions. There's not much metaphor for that one.

The last one though, the one I just got diagnosed with, the one I've been fighting against for the better part of my adulthood and the cause of my crippling state of mind. Disabled, living with my mom at 26, no job, education or even a driving license...

Fear of living. Avoidant personality disorder is basically fear of living. It's when you take the anxiety, leave it on the counter to rot until insects infest it and the whole house smells of decay. It's when you're afraid of something as simple as exploring your interest out of fear or guilt. It's when you feel so apathetic that you end up being a blank slate. It makes socializing hard, it makes it difficult to talk to others when you can't maintain a conversation about common interests. I would love to talk about philosophy, anime, sciences, astronomy, religion, heck even politics, but I probably need to do some kind of catch up before being able to talk to other people. I'm afraid it might look like I'm being fake.

You have all of these worries eating you up inside, all of that negativity. Like mosquitoes constantly stinging and stabbing you. Except they suck more than your blood, they suck your vitality and joie de vivre as well.

I've known for awhile that I've been avoidant, but to have confirmation from my psychiatrist still feels good to me in a way. I know that labels can be facetious or insulting, but after she agreed with me, she immediately asked me if I wanted to see a psychologist. I haven't seen one in years and to have it offered to me after that diagnosis...well, it's kind of telling.

It'll take time for me to get a psychologist. It's free here but the one I'm getting is a really busy person and from what my psychiatrist tells me, that therapist is the best at dealing with an issue like mine. I'm probably going to have CBT. I hope it helps.

Being depressed, anxious, avoidant and the added physical stress of my binge eating makes it extremely difficult to have a single day where I don't either get extremely depressed or cry. Suicidal thoughts happen often but I'm avoidant, suicide itself is even more terrifying...so in a way, my avoidance is keeping me from having really disturbing thoughts.

I also have difficulty dealing with my recent breakup. The relationship I had wasn't...well, it wasn't a relationship. We are both really ill people and we couldn't find a proper middle ground. We probably would have needed professional help to even have a chance to stay together. I did a lot of mistakes myself, focusing on the wrong aspect of intimacy and affection, trying to change her and not respect her and her illnesses and so on. She did some mistakes as well, relationships are two-way after all. I'm trying my best to understand what happened and grieve. It isn't the "love" that I'm missing though, she was the first person that I felt I could talk to about anything, from really screwed up porn I'd come across to subjects like science and philosophy. I could give her a really rude and inappropriate picture and we could laugh about it. I realize now that what I'm really missing was the companionship and the authentic connection we had. It might have been a lie or manipulation on her part, but...

[ Continued ]