/dep/ - Depression

People like to say suffering “builds character” or “makes you stronger,” but that idea is only half true at best. Struggle can force growth when there’s support, safety, and room to process what happened. Some people do come out of hardship with deeper empathy, resilience, or clarity about what matters. But that growth isn’t automatic, and it’s not owed to the pain itself. Often it comes despite the suffering, not because of it, through reflection, help from others, or sheer luck in having the resources to heal.

Just as often, suffering doesn’t strengthen someone at all; it wears them down. Chronic stress, trauma, and loss can rewire the brain toward fear, numbness, or hopelessness. Instead of “character,” you get anxiety, depression, mistrust, or burnout. Saying suffering is good for you can quietly invalidate people who were harmed by it and never got the chance to recover. Pain isn’t a forge that reliably produces stronger people, it’s a risk. Sometimes people adapt and grow, and sometimes they’re left carrying damage that was never fair to ask them to endure in the first place.

I think age 31-32 was the point where I realized I'm too autistic and weird to ever have 'normal' things in life.

I will die either institutionalized or in some shitty rental with nothing to my name. Nothing that I dreamed about will ever become true.

Its like it's this horrible world, full of horrible people, and it's so tempting to hate Being. To hate being itself. And fall into complete nihilism. But you have to embrace Being as it is. And yourself as you are. And just accept the place the Cosmos has given you. And even if it is your destiny to be friendless, ostracized, outcast by all. And to have a shitty job. And you just wagie and then you die forgotten. That's what you were put into this cosmos to do. And you just have to do it. And that's what it means to be a Man. And you just do your shitty job a little bit better each day. And you've made the world a slightly better place, even though the World still hates you back, and there's no reward for goodness.

It's Saturday night and I started taking a new antidepressant called Mirtazapine (15mg) on Thursday night.

This is my 10th or so attempt at a psychiatric medication. I've tried lots of therapy too.

Wish me luck anonymages. I was about to quit my job but watched some motivational videos on autoplay on Youtube for hours and as cheesy as it was, they convinced me to give this a go.

I didn't even get these prescribed recently. It was way back last year and then I just didn't take them because this particular medicine has a reputation for making people really fatigued.

It does put me to sleep. But, maybe that's ok. If it means I can find some happening apart from fapping and dreaming while I sleep.

Maybe it'll even help me turnaround my fortunes at work where it looks like I'm sliding towards a firing or just being unable to come in. Barely stopped myself raging at my boss the other day and took 2 weeks sick leave from stress afterwards. I need to swallow some humble pie come Monday and hopefully these pills help. Being off work for 2 weeks showed me I'm just as miserable and actually more so depressed, anxious and stressed not working despite all the antiwork slogans I collect.

>even the extrovert normalfags with an excellent social and sexual life are on multiple drugs and getting therapy
I'm absolutely done for, dude. Even my life improves, I'll still just be a monkey to the rest of them. Fuck.

This is the classic "suicide general", where we discuss methods and say farewell to our fellow wizards, quite different from that other thread in the catalog.

I'm currently 26, almost 27 (rings a bell?). And I can't take it anymore. I will soon depart from life through hanging. I haven't done it yet because I live in a shithole and there are always people around making noise and being nosy. I will just wait till it's very quiet so I can go to the woods and end this miserable existence.

I don't care if it might "get better". Existence itself is a curse and we're all gonna die anyway. I've read enough pessimist books and life affirming books and I side with the former. I don't need your compansion, because the thought that I will soon disappear is the only thing that makes me happy. I'm not even sad because of this.

Do you take any medication? I am currently taking sertraline, and it has reduced my PTSD symptoms by a lot. I still think about past trauma, but it happens far less often than it used to, and the thoughts no longer feel as overwhelming. It is like the volume has been turned down on memories that once dominated my mind.

Because of that change, I feel more hopeful about the future. The medication has not erased what I went through, but it has given me room to think, breathe, and live without being constantly pulled back into the past. Having that extra mental space has made it easier to imagine a life that is not defined entirely by trauma.

Isolation has carved me in its image and likeness. The presence of another person- of any person whatsoever - instantly slows down my thinking, and while for a normal man contact with others is a stimulus to spoken expression and wit, for me it is a counterstimulus, if this compound word be linguistically permissible. When all by myself, I can think of all kinds of clever remarks, quick comebacks to what no one said, and flashes of witty sociability with nobody. But all of this vanishes when I face someone in the flesh: I lose my intelligence, I can no longer speak, and after half an hour I just feel tired. Yes, talking to people makes me feel like sleeping. Only my ghostly and imaginary friends, only the conversations I have in my dreams, are genuinely real and substantial, and in them intelligence gleams like an image in a mirror.

The mere thought of having to enter into contact with someone else makes me nervous. A simple invitation to have dinner with a friend produces an anguish in me that's hard to define. The idea of any social obligation whatsoever attending a funeral, dealing with someone about an office matter, going to the station to wait for someone I know or don't know - the very idea disturbs my thoughts for an entire day, and sometimes I even start worrying the night before, so that I sleep badly. When it takes place, the dreaded encounter is utterly insignific ant, justifying none of my anxiety, but the next time is no different: I never learn to learn.

'My habits are of solitude, not of men.' I don't know if it was Rousseau or Senancour who said this. But it was some mind of my species, it being perhaps too much to say of my race.”

Text 49, The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa

I was watching TV and out of nowhere I got a very ugly reality check, I just realized that my floor is full of my own hair, I'm getting bald, I don't know how to feel, I'm taking medication and now I don't feel really sad, but I can't feel happy either, I want to throw up, I've been playing video games all these days and without realizing it out of nowhere I start crying, What a fucking rage, because my mom worries and I don't know how to explain what's wrong with me

Furnishing/Furniture thread

in case you suspect your /dep/ression is a result of living in unfit living quarters.

I'll start.
In my family, we only have wool blankets (thick) and a cotton fabric-like blanket (very thin). I never thought it could have been any impact on me. TURNS OUT IT WAS IMPACTING ME A LOT. Two years ago I got a nice cotton blanket (medium thickness) and my sleep improved, well, overnight. Well, THIS WINTER, my mommy borrowed my blanket and now I have to look for another similar one (can't find the same class of fluffy blankets anymore, ugh…) - hope the blanket I've got recently will help. I mean, I got my brain fog from bad sleep… ugh… I only realized it today… ugh…


Also, don't forget to vent your bedrooms