i've downloaded some mysql guis and am e-mailing them to myself so I can get them onto the server. I found a few portable ones so I don't have to install anything and tick them off.
I hear ya, loud and clear. Was it a medication that led to the bad patch? I've never had the street problem but definitely had a fear of being seen in public that led to lots of alone time.
Your point about trying to be positive strikes a chord also. Folks who know me just a bit or only professionally consider me a relentlessly cheerful, encouraging person. I've always got something great and positive to say about a situation, no matter how bleak it is. In part, this is because just about anything is better than what I feel inside, so I'm able to spot the positive pretty easily. Also, it's partly an effort to will a certain view of reality into being. Nothing's great until someone labels it such.
The folks who really, really get to know me tend to get worn out once I let down the shell and let them see a bit of what's going on inside. In dating relationships I try to ease the other person into understanding how I get by, but even so, there comes a point where they "get it" and you see how disappointed they are. I've found the best approach is to just tell her that I have dark periods when nothing I say will be useful or productive, so I'm not going to say much.
I often wonder how relevant someone's upbringing is in stories like this. I've been depressed and "heard" suicidal and self-hateful thoughts pretty much every day since I was 9 or 10. But I was raised in a small town in the Midwest by parents who would tell me (with the best of intentions) to "suck it up" and "get over it" when I was in a particularly deep or prolonged funk. I pretty much cried every day in 4th grade anytime I was alone due to being overwhelmed by how much I hated myself. Anytime something would happen, I'd think "you should kill yourself."
It never occurred to me that I might have a condition or that I was hearing voices. And perhaps I'm not, in the same way that this person is. I have no idea. All I knew was that I felt sad all the time, and others didn't seem to feel the same way. My only conclusion was that I had some weakness or flaw that other kids didn't have.
I subconsciously found coping mechanisms. First it was superhero comics and video games. Playing sports seemed to help a good bit, too, though I despised the monotony of it. Eventually, I found online porn, and that became my treatment of choice anytime I felt a funk coming on. This caused a good bit of guilt, though and has made dating difficult.
I went out east for college and was suddenly in a community where people like me were "diagnosed" and put on medication. I was surrounded by east-coasters on meds. There was a clinical solution for "being bummed out all the time." I'd never considered that I might have a mental illness that could be treated pharmacologically.
I thought about seeing a professional about my situation, but the downsides seemed and still seem pretty immense. Once you're officially diagnosed, your life changes forever. If I was diagnosed as clinically depressed or something more serious like the conditions the original author claims to have, wouldn't I be labeled a crazy person for life? And what if they recommended extensive, unpleasant treatments that would interrupt or seriously hamper my career or personal life? If I test positive for some serious mental illness, would the doctor be obligated to inform the state? My employer? My family?
And once you test positive, doesn't that become your identity? You are a crazy person, and your life revolves around that.
So when I read stories like this, my heart goes out to the person, but I also wonder how much of their situation was caused by environmental factors, specifically coming from a culture of clinical diagnosis and pharmacology. Had I been raised by different people in a different environment, I'd be taking lots of drugs and probably would have a few hospital stays under my belt. I would probably see myself as a crazy person and have a hard time getting work and supporting myself.
Instead, I'm an extremely high-functioning porn and work addict who suspects he has serious mental infirmities. I could deal with them, but it would require the full focus of my time and energies for years to do, and who knows how it'd turn out?