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4 minutes ago, Bjornebye said:

Thats shit mate. Don't hit the ale, don't badger her and focus on you. Read, gym, eat and search for a new job. Don't cause murder (which sounds tempting) and just be cool. 

 

Ive been through it, utter turmoil I know but remember, you were born on your own bollock naked and thats how you will die so make sure you are number 1 priority in-between. 

 

She seems a twat anyway x 

Cheers Stig I really appreciate that.

Got my lad who is 11 and lives with me and keeps me on the straight and narrow.

Just doing my head in how it all unfolded is a million reasons to bin me but I did fuck all that night.

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3 minutes ago, Colt Seavers said:

Cheers Stig I really appreciate that.

Got my lad who is 11 and lives with me and keeps me on the straight and narrow.

Just doing my head in how it all unfolded is a million reasons to bin me but I did fuck all that night.

More important things in life than a maniac mate. 

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59 minutes ago, Colt Seavers said:

 Suffered from depression or anxiety or self hate for years on happy pills an all that.

Went out for my gf sons 20th last week around 7ish little party in the local, my mates had been out since 1.

My birds mate fancies my mate so is badgering me to ask him to come to the do, I know our lass wouldn't want them here as it's here family and they've been out since 1.

Anyway here mate invites him without me knowing our lass isn't happy but I go and try and keep them at the bar away from anyone they can offend.

So birds mate tells bird I invited them and all of a sudden I'm a cunt, I manage to speak to her and tell her what happened but she doesn't believe me, luckily my mate has the texts on his phone. The story then changes to I said my mate would shag her, which offended her. Which I did but that was why she invited him out.

Anyway the birds go outside and our lass leaves her phone on the table, so I pick it up and put it in my pocket mainly because her son's gf family are proper scum and I don't trust them.

Next thing our lass comes back pissed off but won't tell me why and "doesn't want to discuss it".

I go back to my mates and try and keep them amused, next thing our lass has gone her sons gf is accusing me of all kinds of shit like taking her phone off her in a controlling manner and emotionally abusing her, and her son is threatening me.

Next day I go to hers and she denies any of the emotional abuse stuff but bins me.

I'm upset and not proud of the next bit but say her son is a skinny little cunt and at 20 he is lucky I didn't slot him.

Now this is the reason I'm dumped and she has blocked me on everything, 2 and half years we have been together I don't expect her to take me back or be friends but surely I deserve 20 minutes to explain my side, its proper fucking my head.

Sorry it's so long winded don't even know why I have posted just maybe needed to vent to people who don't know me.

Driving me insane as I don't know what I could have done differently on the night?

Got told I'm losing my job at end of August today too so not a great week.

Purely going by what you’ve said in this post, you’re well out of it, in my opinion, mate. Give it time and I’m sure you’ll find someone who you want to be with and who wants to be with you. PM me the son’s details and I’ll go on Facebook/Twitter and call him a whopper.

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1 minute ago, Tony Moanero said:

Purely going by what you’ve said in this post, you’re well out of it, in my opinion, mate. Give it time and I’m sure you’ll find someone who you want to be with and who wants to be with you. 

Cheers Tone.

I have probably painted a bad picture of her based on this, she is lovely and the nicest person normally but her son is her Achilles heel which is why I lost my temper.

She knows her friend is lying because my "mentallness" (sorry if that offends anyone just couldn't think of a better word) means I can't lie or I get massive bouts of guilt even over the littlest things.

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30 minutes ago, Bjornebye said:

Is her daughter on Instagram by the way? Only asking because Lifey is at a lose end 

Haha fucking brilliant, do you mean son? 

Her daughter is 14..unless he is a bit Savile....not judging mind 

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Been going hard at the exercise on a regular basis and it definitely seems to have taken the edge off the anxiety. Still get those moments of anxiousness but because I'm used to producing the symptoms associated with anxiety through  regular weight training my body and mind are seemingly less likely to flip out. Just avoid deadlifts!

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1 hour ago, Babb'sBurstNad said:

Life has a knack for kicking you when you're down. Been under a lot of stress recently, and getting shat on by people left and right doesn't help. Life without a conscience must be grand.

Stay strong mate.

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12 minutes ago, skend04 said:

Been going hard at the exercise on a regular basis and it definitely seems to have taken the edge off the anxiety. Still get those moments of anxiousness but because I'm used to producing the symptoms associated with anxiety through  regular weight training my body and mind are seemingly less likely to flip out. Just avoid deadlifts!

Is weights or cardio best for getting rid of the adrenaline you build up in your body through anxiety? I've heard conflicting things.

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2 hours ago, Section_31 said:

Is weights or cardio best for getting rid of the adrenaline you build up in your body through anxiety? I've heard conflicting things.

Yeah, I read that although weight training increases your cortisol levels over that day, they eventually go back to a more normal level over time. It seems to be helping quite a bit. It's obviously not a full cure but it helps you cope.

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2 hours ago, Section_31 said:

Is weights or cardio best for getting rid of the adrenaline you build up in your body through anxiety? I've heard conflicting things.

Weights for sure, for me personally anyway. Anxiety leads to the fight or flight reaction. Running equals flight, which feeds into anxiety. Weights equals fight, which surely overcomes anxiety? 

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Different methods (or behavioural activation) work for different people. For some, weight lifting is a great source to exert energy for others running does that and for some relaxation techniques are a great addition too. But if you're doing this after your anxiety is heightened then you're looking at short-term management techniques. The more you do/plan it in, and keep at it (with the inclusion of other stress/anxiety reducing techniques such as looking at your hobbies, socialising and managing your thoughts) the more you'll have better strategies to manage your triggers (whether that's family life, work-related etc).  

 

Lifey disclaimer: If you'd like further advice, speak to your GP or contact your local IAPT service. 

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5 hours ago, Babb'sBurstNad said:

Life has a knack for kicking you when you're down. Been under a lot of stress recently, and getting shat on by people left and right doesn't help. Life without a conscience must be grand.

It pours when it rains mate. But.... always sunshine there on the horizon. 

 

Oh and give up the fetish clubs. 

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17 hours ago, Shooter in the Motor said:

Weights for sure, for me personally anyway. Anxiety leads to the fight or flight reaction. Running equals flight, which feeds into anxiety. Weights equals fight, which surely overcomes anxiety? 

I think activity actually dissipates the adrenaline though. 

 

Your body gets pumped with it when you're having anxiety because your brain perceives something (such as constant stress) the way it would a tiger walking into your living room.

 

It shuts down non essential systems like your gut and higher thought processes (which is why you lose your appetite and can't think straight beyond the immediate threat). 

 

It redeploys your antibodies to your skin because it's expecting physical injuries, which is why you pick up bugs and minor infections as your main organs are less protected. 

 

Your vision becomes more acute which is why things can feel blurred or overwhelming and you also pick up that feeling of paranoia when people are too close to you or somewhere is too noisy.

 

Your breathing becomes more shallow as you're expecting to run, and muscles tense and you need a shit and a piss because they body wants to get rid of any excess weight to aid your escape. Your body is also pumped with cortisol and adrenaline to make you stronger.

 

In nature though, you'd then enact 'phase 2' of this and run away or fight, that physical activity would then soak up some of the adrenaline that's been pumped in and help you return to normal.

 

But because we don't do that the adrenaline just stays there, giving us symptoms. 

 

I suppose a big part of the key is to find something to do with that adrenaline while you deal with the underlying issues causing the anxiety reaction in the first place.

 

Apparently all this, this state of high alert, can last no longer than 45 minutes max, our body can't physically manage any more than that, so when we get persistent symptoms it's because we're reactivating it ourselves, usual with worry and stress.

 

It's all grimly fascinating.

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1 hour ago, Section_31 said:

I think activity actually dissipates the adrenaline though. 

 

Your body gets pumped with it when you're having anxiety because your brain perceives something (such as constant stress) the way it would a tiger walking into your living room.

 

It shuts down non essential systems like your gut and higher thought processes (which is why you lose your appetite and can't think straight beyond the immediate threat). 

 

It redeploys your antibodies to your skin because it's expecting physical injuries, which is why you pick up bugs and minor infections as your main organs are less protected. 

 

Your vision becomes more acute which is why things can feel blurred or overwhelming and you also pick up that feeling of paranoia when people are too close to you or somewhere is too noisy.

 

Your breathing becomes more shallow as you're expecting to run, and muscles tense and you need a shit and a piss because they body wants to get rid of any excess weight to aid your escape. Your body is also pumped with cortisol and adrenaline to make you stronger.

 

In nature though, you'd then enact 'phase 2' of this and run away or fight, that physical activity would then soak up some of the adrenaline that's been pumped in and help you return to normal.

 

But because we don't do that the adrenaline just stays there, giving us symptoms. 

 

I suppose a big part of the key is to find something to do with that adrenaline while you deal with the underlying issues causing the anxiety reaction in the first place.

 

Apparently all this, this state of high alert, can last no longer than 45 minutes max, our body can't physically manage any more than that, so when we get persistent symptoms it's because we're reactivating it ourselves, usual with worry and stress.

 

It's all grimly fascinating.

There's also this weird thing with sound. I've seen a few clients come out with it. Like a zero tolerance to low frequency sounds.

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3 hours ago, Seasons said:

There's also this weird thing with sound. I've seen a few clients come out with it. Like a zero tolerance to low frequency sounds.

Interesting that. When my anxiety is high if my phone vibrates with a text message I jump.

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On 21/05/2019 at 18:01, LF:D said:

 

Why because you’re so narrow minded & disagree? 

 

I believe I could help yes. But I am past caring to do that based on the replies I’ve received. 

You think you have the solution to help millions out of mental health problems, but you won’t because some anonymous people on the internet were mean? 

 

How big of you

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I find I always get really down when my Mrs goes back to work as I kind of get sucked into her lifestyle.  

 

She's a teacher so basically she's up at half five, in bed by 10 (as am I usually) and we don't do anything in the week at all, it's unthinkable for us to go for a drink or to see a film or something, it becomes literally about living for the weekend. 

 

We have our tea then she goes upstairs to work from about 7 until 9 every night and I basically just sit downstairs on my bill, but can't really settle or, say, watch a film and relax. End up just channel surfing or fucking around with my phone. 

 

She loves her job so none of this bothers her but it gets me down to be honest. When she's on holidays we have a totally different existence. 

 

 

 

 

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Nice read: 

 

Depression and anxiety threatened to kill my career. So I came clean about it

Teaching was my dream job, writes Yasha Hartberg. But how would students react to a professor who could barely keep his life together?

Yasha Hartberg

Tue 10 Sep 2019 06.00 BST

 

 ‘Far from rejecting me, students stayed after class to tell me how sorry they were.’ Photograph: Getty

In the fall of 2016, I landed a part-time job teaching writing to pre-med majors at Texas A&M University. In 2017, this turned into a dream, full-time position, and it seemed like my life was finally falling into place. Just a semester later, though, at the start of 2018, I experienced the worst panic attacks of my life.

I was holding things together at work, mostly, but a few times each week I closed my office door, turned off the lights, and crawled under my desk to bawl. I constantly suffered near-paralyzing fear, and it was affecting my students. I debated what it would mean to tell my class. Would students no longer respect me as an instructor?

I finally decided to share what I was going through, but, in nearly 20 years of teaching, I’d never been more terrified to be in front of students.

I don’t remember exactly what I said at the end of class that day, but I tried to describe the situation straightforwardly.

Some of you, no doubt, have noticed that the class isn’t going smoothly. Readings haven’t been posted on time. Due dates for assignments have sometimes been confusing. I haven’t been getting feedback to you as quickly as I’d like. I pride myself on being on top of things, so I feel you deserve an explanation.

The explanation was this: for months, pressure had been building on me from so many different directions that it was almost inevitable that something would give.

Ever since I was a kid I had dreamed of getting a doctorate. I finally accomplished that goal, earning my PhD in biology in 2016. While immensely gratifying, that dream had come with a cost. I’d taken out as much in student loans as many people borrow to buy a house. I had no idea how much my payments might be, and as the date for repayment drew nearer, I couldn’t bear to find out.

Meanwhile, I was just starting to come out of the closet. By the end of 2017, most of my closest friends knew the secret I’d been hiding – even from myself – for 48 years. But many in my family didn’t, and I was desperately afraid of their rejection.

Since adolescence, cycles of anxiety and depression had been part of life, and they were predictable in their progression. If I just waited them out, they eventually dissipated.

While they were miserable in the moment, I’d come to look forward to a kind of rejuvenation I always felt at their end. However long they lasted, once the fog of depression lifted, I would be bursting with new ideas, filled with creative energy and a renewed sense of purpose.

This time, though, there was no end in sight, no resurrection, no rebirth. Death was becoming attractive. I knew I desperately needed help, and I knew it had to be now.

Even though I have health insurance, the demand for mental health services far exceeds supply and, it turns out, the start of the new year is an especially terrible time to seek psychological care. Counselors are busy catching up with clients and post-holiday paperwork. Voice messages never get returned. “First available” was often two months or more away, hardly helpful when I couldn’t see a future beyond two weeks. The choice between suicide and cold calling therapists may seem obvious, but I just didn’t have the strength to be turned away again.

My students were the slender thread that stayed my hands from doing myself harm. What would happen to them if I killed myself? How would my sudden death disrupt their graduation plans? As for my colleagues, they were already stretched thin teaching their own classes. I couldn’t burden them with more.

As hard as I’ve tried not to let my personal life interfere with my professional obligations, as all of you know, sometimes life just becomes too large to compartmentalize.

Before reaching the point where I felt compelled to confess, I had caught a lucky break. A clinic called to let me know that a counselor had an unexpected opening. I just needed to hold on for another week for my first appointment.

The morning of my first session, I was terrified. In fact, I almost ran out of the clinic before I was finally called back to a cozy office.

The counselor introduced herself and started explaining her background and doctor-patient confidentiality while I scratched at a red spot on my thumb, already rubbed raw from a nervous tic I’ve had since I was a kid. I had no idea where to begin, but fortunately I didn’t need to. The counselor had prepared questions and answering them proved comforting – even though it meant divulging things I’d never shared with anyone before. We scheduled weekly sessions, something to hold on to.

I saw signs of improvement over the next couple of weeks – small, silly things to anyone not living in my head. Checking the mail is hardly herculean, but I had avoided my mailbox for two months fearing the bills inside.

Just as things were looking up again, tragedy struck. My dad and stepmom had come to visit me the last weekend in January, an extremely rare treat. We’d had a good time as I showed them my apartment, my new office, and some of my favorite restaurants. They were worried – I’d let slip on social media that I was having panic attacks – but I deftly deflected any conversations that touched on my mental health.

We parted ways in the early afternoon. As they started the 200-mile drive back to Dallas, I hiked in the woods. About an hour later, still on the road, they tried to call me and I knew something must be wrong, especially since my mother, who was living in Nebraska, tried to call shortly afterward.

I found a clearing in the forest with phone service and called my mom. It turned out that my 45-year-old sister, Molly, was in a coma in a Montana hospital, and no one really knew what was happening.

If things were desperate before that call, I don’t know what words would describe the weeks that followed. Grief. Anxiety. Pressure. So much pressure. The dutiful son ripped to shreds from conflicting impulses. Mom all-but-asking me to stay away. Dad all-but-begging me to accompany him to see his daughter one last time.

My colleagues were supportive, offering to take over my classes if needed. I knew they were sincere, too, but that only heightened my anxiety. Academic jobs are hard to find and funding for my position wasn’t stable. What would happen if it looked like I was unreliable?

Even if I’d been able to overcome that set of fears, the logistics proved too much for me to cope with in my emotional state. When your sister lies close to death 1,500 miles away, what is the best time to show up at her bedside? Is it five days into her coma, when she won’t know you’re there but there are still hopeful signs she might recover? Is it on day 11, when her eyes finally open, but she’s at best only dimly aware of what’s happening? Or would it be more supportive to save my limited vacation days to help with funeral plans if it came to that?

Worst of all, I didn’t feel it was right to burden my parents with knowledge of my mental health struggles when they were grieving the impending loss of their daughter.

The facades of health and happiness and professional detachment were collapsing in on me. The only way I could see to relieve the pressure was to let the world see my brokenness. In that moment, how the world reacted hardly seemed to matter. So I explained to my students what was happening.

The day before Valentine’s Day, my younger sister passed away. About two weeks earlier she fell into a diabetic coma and, despite some false signs of hope, she was never able to recover. For over a month of this semester, I have been dealing with overwhelming uncertainty, worry and grief.

I’ve been suffering from major depression and anxiety. I’ve started counseling, and I’m starting to do better. I just felt you should know. As hard as y’all work for my class, I felt you needed an explanation for why you haven’t been getting my best.

Whatever the consequences might be, at least I’d been honest.

To my surprise, far from rejecting me, students stayed after class to tell me how sorry they were. They left condolence cards in my mailbox and sent emails to let me know they were praying for my family. They stopped by my office to check on me. Up to that point, I’d been so caught up in my despair that it never occurred to me that I might be worthy of concern and support. Being accepted despite my flaws touched me in ways that are hard to express.

What happened next, though, transformed me. In their condolences, students shared their own experiences with loss, grief, depression and anxiety – far more than I could have guessed for lives so young.

Encouraged by their candor and support, I continued to open up. For instance, when I started antidepressants a few weeks later, I warned students before my lecture that I might be a bit loopy because I was experiencing distracting tingling sensations. I expected students might look at me as though I were crazy. Instead, I saw heads nodding in recognition. Soon, students showed up at office hours to thank me. They had never heard a professor expose that side of themselves. They saw their own struggles reflected in my vulnerability, and they saw something else, too. They saw hope.

Our students struggle far more than we can imagine. We’re often unaware of their difficulties, largely because we only see them for a few hours each week, often in large groups. At the same time, students are crafting walls of feigned invulnerability and confidence in emulation of the masks faculty wear. From freshman year to full tenure, academic life is lived under constant scrutiny. Is it any wonder we fear revealing anything that might be perceived as weakness?

Since opening up about my mental health, students have given me a peek behind their facades, sharing their stories of grief and despair: the unexpected death of a parent, the suicide of a sibling, paralyzing panic, involuntary commitment to psychiatric hospitals, abusive relationships and more.

Importantly, they don’t view me as a counselor. While a few students have asked what to expect if they enter therapy, not one has asked me to help them work through psychological trauma. That’s not my job, nor is it theirs when I describe my own issues – students understand and respect that.

Mostly, I believe they share their stories because they desperately need to be understood by those who are shaping their lives and their careers. Struggling to succeed while grappling with mental health issues is difficult enough. Keeping that struggle secret – especially from those who evaluate your performance – is exhausting. A barely passing grade separated from a student’s lived experience seems like a mediocre effort. But in the context of crippling depression and anxiety, it becomes a monumental tribute to their dedication, drive and ability. When that same student earns an “A”, a letter grade hardly seems adequate to reflect the magnitude of their accomplishments.

Yes, part of our job as professors is to evaluate students’ performance objectively and honestly, and we do our best to prepare them for the “real world”, which can be unforgiving of mental health struggles. But students already know that life is hard. Far more of them have learned this basic lesson more intimately than anyone would like to acknowledge.

Perhaps, then, as teachers we should include in our lessons that it is possible to be successful even when life is hard. Students need to learn from our example, through our own authenticity, that mental illness does not sentence them to failure. Perhaps, above all, they need to learn that all of us deserve a little bit of grace.

 

https://www.theguardian.com/society/2019/sep/10/depression-and-anxiety-threatened-to-kill-my-career-so-i-came-clean-about-it

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