Its a fucking slippery slope with depression and the ilk, because it gives people excuses to do fuck all or be insufferable. I myself used to be much more sympathetic until I met this one exceptional individual, I’ll call him Ned. I met Ned online when I was in a thread discussing the challenges people with depression face, and how to cope. I’m no medical professional, but have experience, and I’m generally a good listener. He said he was having a crisis so I offered to chat for the evening, under the mutual understanding that 1.) You will seek help once this moment passes, this is a one time fix 2.) I am not your friend/personal therapist, just a random concerned person looking to help, I will not give you my contact past the anonymous message app I was using. This wasn’t my first rodeo, so I went in, talked him out of harming himself, and called it a night. Literally the next day he was having another crisis, so I probed as to whether he’d gotten in contact with a doctor. He said that he had been through THREE therapists in the last year, all of whom ‘couldn’t help’. Red flag. We discussed medications, he was on none, lived at home, no job, just sat in his room all day on the computer. I recommend diet, exercise, the like. He agreed, I reminded him that I’m not a therapist substitute, and left. The next three months he literally messaged me every single day with some crisis, he’d constantly fish for sympathy and asspats about his situation, never implementing any change. When he did a modicum, like taking me up on an art therapy suggestion to redirect anxiety, he’d present his drawing practically begging for praise, all the while being as self deprecating as humanly possible. During this time his fourth therapist washed his hands of him for non compliance and constant suicide bating. He was never hospitalized, despite mine (and numerous others) recommendations. He just wanted to live at home, wallowing in self pity, while mum fed him tendies. I began to suspect a personality disorder. I was frank and said that I just couldn’t deal with it, that he’d abused the privilege I had initially granted him, and we parted ways smoothly. I got perhaps three or for more messages of suicide bating before he realized that I wasn’t going to respond, then finally a ‘I’m doing better now’ before radio silence. He was an outlier in all my years on the internet, both sympathetic and infuriating. It made me question what a medical professional could even do in this situation, and the nature of mental illness as a disability. Since the vast majority of depressed people will jump at the chance to resume their predepression level of functionality, behind every depression disability claim, I see a Ned.
