Dependent to Independent.

Right now im in the process to get a job threw BVR. (bureau of vocational rehabilitation/ to help me get and keep a job) That will take a couple more months, Im working on being independent, I have NO clue how I'm going to do this or how this is going to turn out. I have a case manager who isnt really informational and a vocational specialist i was meeting up with and then stopped because i still had no success with getting a job. I don't want to be here living off my 68 year old alcoholic father, miserable not looking forward to the next day. I have nothing, Not even $2 to my name, no job, nothing. I swore id be out of here in 2009 then 2010 now look its close to 2012. This has got to STOP, i cant do it anymore, time for me to be on my own.

Id just like to hear stories of those that have been in a situation of being dependent and/or never moving out, basically starting from square one how you became independent, what you did to get there, and any information to help me out would be greatly appreciated to. thank you

I lived an extremely independent lifestyle, was married, owned my own home, held down stressful jobs, etc.

Then, I had a complete and utter mental breakdown in May 2010. And then my parents came to get me to bring me back to my hometown.

After the in-patient hospitalization down in FL, my parents brought me back to WV to begin an out-patient hospitalization/group therapy program. I was in this for about 4 months. Then, I "graduated" and began going to a therapist by myself once a week.

I was still on leave from my job in FL, but knew that it was probably going to end up being impossible to go back down there, because my husband was filing for divorce, and the house was unaffordable (and is now in foreclosure).

I had to live with my parents, and I wasn't even really allowed to use kitchen knives the first few weeks I was home!!! Then, gradually, they had me do more and more around the house, but they would not even let me drive my own car for MONTHS because they were unsure if I'd take off or something. I then started looking for jobs around October, and I was going crazy staying in that house and cleaning all the time. I had no friends, virtually, around, and was lonely and depressed. I felt as if I had no purpose, and hated taking on the role of child again at 29.

I did find a job, finally, and with a bank as a teller. I sucked at being a teller, but I applied for a better position, and got it. I then was asked to apply for an open position in the finance department, and got that job as well.

I now live with my grandmother, instead of my parents, and WISH that I lived on my own, but I really help take care of her as much as she takes care of me :0). We call each other roommates. But I work a full-time job, buy the groceries, and help with bills, which at least makes me feel somewhat independent.

You have to walk again before you run, but your first step is going to be getting a job. ANY job. Something to give you time out of the house and a little income.

I'm no hero, but I'm better off now than I was a year ago.

AMP

Well, I can't exactly say I've ever been independent or dependent. What's irritating is that its in my blood to be inclined towards independence so it's something I've always strove for -- and strove to have as much semblance of it as possible, regardless of anything.

I'll try to make a long story short here, and in doing so it may or may not work.

I've lived on my own from 18-25, until I was married and lived with my then wife from 25-32 which of course counts as on your own. Basically, my dad set me up with my first place as it was my want and I was causing trouble for him living with him, his new wife and my new found step-brothers. A combination of emotional instability which had no name, and worse social anxiety than I have now made my relationship with my fathers new wife, step brother and by proxy, him, both impossible as well as chaotic. I mostly wanted/need to be left alone and was happy living just he and I, and a combination of being 16 and immature as well as riddled with problems made me entirely able to understand let alone care that he had to move on with his own life, and he had his happiness and future to think about.

I can't remember every little detail, but my seclusion in the house was bugging my step-brothers and my father was being very forceful in trying to get me to do things with them simply as it was adversely affecting him. I upset my fathers new wife so badly once that she locked herself in a bathroom and cried -- if you knew her you'd say good on me. I punched the younger step-brother (my age) in the face right after I'd thrown a beverage at it. I stumbled down the stairs once to grab a barbell to pummel my step-brothers with, which my father wrenched out of my hand. It was just escalating, and he'd only be able to control me in any capacity for so much longer.

Mind you during all of this I was being tossed back and forth from my mothers to my fathers. I'd escape the chaos of my fathers home by going to live with my BPD + HPD + Major Depression + Thor-knows-what-else mother. I'd try and make it work but she was an absolute nightmare: When I refer to someone as a nutcase --especially when references myself at that period of my life-- that's really saying something. I simply wasn't having her hysterics, controlling and manipulative behavior, verbal/emotional/psychological abuse and she wasn't having my problems either (the rest of the family just gave into her, I was a cut above my siblings insofar as strength).

In the end, the looney spaztw-t bitch would throw me in a car by flipping out to a point where I had little choice and I'd end up back at my father, rinse and repeat. Finally, my dad got sick of it and set me up with an apartment and paid for everything, where I was then ignored -- basically it was to remove me (wasn't exactly a palace, but hey I wasn't paying for it). His brilliant idea was "You have a year to get a job", well how the ###$ was I supposed to do that? This is when I first tried on antidepressants, Prozac then Zoloft, neither of which worked; I was trying to get myself into a state where it was even possible to go trying.

Yeah, set me up with a place with absolutely no life-experience or life-skills on top of being ill and said "Get a job in a year." (oh, by the way my father is/was an alcoholic as well). He ended up giving me a year and a half, I'll let you guess how things went. Anyway, he stopped paying for it and I had to leave.

Ended up living in a cheap hotel for a little while, but it was draining the small amount of money I'd saved up in my short while being a teenager. A social worker suggested I live in some group accommodation but came to agree with me that living with others --least of all dregs-- wasn't going to work. I'd gotten on very scant benefits at this stage, not enough to have a place or anything.

My parents eventually felt guilt and both came to an arrangement, along with me, to split the cost and expenses of some squatters flat that wasn't even a studio in the inner-city where I was ignored. I was alive, I was living and breathing if nothing else, so that satiated their guilt. It was the size of a small walk in closet and had two rooms, the kitchen was part of the ridiculously small living area and the bath room had just enough room for one person to fit in. It had no air conditioning and this in California in a valley. Also, it grew hellish mold and made me and all of my cloth smell horrid in addition to affecting my health. I was 19.

So eventually they felt guilty about that and I got a proper studio apartment with a separate room for the kitchen and bathroom, as well as heat and air. While living there my SSDI (that's disability benefits for those of you who aren't American) came through with a massive back payment so I was actually able to get things other than just a 9 inch TV and a little stereo. I was 20.

With my new found income and slightly better life I got a proper flat and then really began trying to get to the bottom of my problems and become well, and I did it hard. I was 20-21. This is also the time I rediscovered heavy smoking. That's when I started seeing a psychiatrist regularly and started going through meds until I found something that worked. It took 2 years to find one med, it was an anti-psychotic. It was shortly thereafter that I discovered diet pills as a nice mood-enhancer.

I was happy in that place but had to move to government housing eventually as I couldn't afford my private apartment any longer. The place was still nicer than my previous places, but there were gang members and literately murderers who hung around there so I ended up managing to move into a different one.

Anyway, eventually while living there I had to go off the anti-psychotic and was no longer able to take them due to complications, and I was given amphetamines as my doctor didn't know what else to do and I ended up getting seriously addicted to them (began to secretly abuse them),.. I wouldn't sleep for 3-4 days at a time and was hallucinating and delusional but my body had become dependent on them. I eventually managed to kick those (was NOT easy) as I realized I was practically dying, I wasn't sleeping and it seemed no matter how much I ate I was skin and bones.

It was around this time (24-25 by this stage) that I was diagnosed as Bipolar II and that's when I began receiving meds which worked for me, even though I never had manic nor euphoric highs. The meds I was being given for supposed Bipolar II allowed me to take an antidepressant I'd previously not been able to remain on but I knew worked wonders at the time (Wellbutrin) and I began to rapidly improve. I met someone, got engaged, got married, left the country with reason.

Crazy experience in London that lead me back to California for 1 1/2 years where things weren't so bad this time around -- partly due to new found love of drinking every goddamn day. I met some friends. My then wife and I had some time apart to relax, recover and work things out -- rebuild trust and our connection and all that. I ended up losing my place in California due to my inability to manage my $#%^ straight and nearly became homeless (my drinking wasn't helping the matter). Elicited the aid of my dad and he helped me get set up with a place --I paid for everything with my SSDI-- in a different state as he'd long since moved from California which was work related. Crazy experience there which I wont go into.

Ended up where I am now, things were pretty good for a while, ok enough, but went wrong. Things were and have been very hard but I'm getting through it and am now on my way more-or-less. It's only a matter of time before I begin school again, and not only get a job, but a decent, proper one that leads to a career.

Took me 14 years in total to having total independence within my reach, which I will reach shortly. I'd say the biggest breakthroughs in my life were first inadvertently finding meds that treated BPD, and then discovering what it was, and that I had it, so I read about it and came to a greater understanding of myself which has helped immensely.

Finding a relationship was a breakthrough also, but that was due to being treated so that one is covered. There are a couple of other things that were major breakthroughs but I'll leave those out as there's no point in offending the people which it may offend. Also, they're simply too close to heart.

There's a lot missing in there, but there you go. I actually did get work in London but it was freelance writing for mostly underground-ish, slightly radical political magazines (people still primarily read magazines made of paper then). I did meet a few friends in London also. Overall though, it was hell. I wouldn't trade it for anything though as it was an invaluable experience, and hey, I traveled the world.

There are of course huge chunks missing, as well as the finer details. It's quite a story, within story, within story.

Hmm.. I really want to punch my mom in the face right now. Such a big, silly dummy. Her problem is that on top of her problems she couldn't/can't think for herself, and she's also an idiot. Oh yes, and she's a bitch too. The fool has never progressed at all in all her life despite seeing countless doctors, counselors and therapists.

I walk an independent image and value independence but i am not self sufficient enough and although shut the world out, don't go out, feel too insecure to be all out there and extroverted at times i tend to hate being alone and need to be cared for or helped. I am a contradiction to the word independence at times. I love living out of home, having a routine, doing my own thing at time but want a boyfriend and them to be there 24/7 and feel lost, dark and alone without one.

I can't thank you all enough for sharing your stories and thoughts, I enjoyed reading it and it helps me it really does! Thank you

Thinking about it, you could say it took 7 years, or 14 years depending on how you look at it.

It all depends if one counts the marriage years as independent... I'm currently cynical about those years.

The ultimately reality is I will likely rise and fall throughout most of my life...

It doesn't bother me too much as in order to be part of civilization you have to be dependent to some extent. Only hobos --I do not use that term in a derogatory manner-- have anything close to independence; even pirates had strict rules they had to abide by. They were independent of the cast system, and that was about it. I do not, personally, desire to be a hobo... so I take what I can get, if you know what I'm sayin.

I kind of relate to rebba also, but not entirely. I relate to you, rebba, mostly in the area of not feeling self-sufficient and I wonder if I'll ever be entirely so, and also the feeling of needing a close relationship all of the time, and I wondering if those two things will always deter independence, especially the self-sufficiency bit in general.

But, I'm more or less a brooding loner, and I hate being told what to do. I very much want people around when I want or need them around, and then to eff off when I don't. Mind you though, I always pay back their being around in equal measure. I'm the kinda man who 'keeps score.'