Farewell

I suppose if I wasn't going to go out with a bang I should at least go out with a whimper. <br><br>I've met some of the most interesting people in my life, many of you right here. I've never been one for traditional social media, because I don't have the "gift for gab" as they say. But I can write. I can type out my thoughts easier than saying them out loud. I've always been this way, and because of this I don't really have friends in my personal life. Reddit has been my outlet for meeting people that share similar interests as me, or to learn about people who don't share my interests. <br><br>I've been here for about 16 years, and in that time I've accumulated a lot of knowledge. But there also exists a lot I don't know. As part of my moving away from Reddit I'm going to really focus on sharing what knowledge I can. For instance, I haven't told anyone in my life about my depression. This will be the first time. I've shared it with reddit. Other topics of that sort I will start sharing part by part. <br><br>My issue with Reddit is that I've made a game out of it. I've figured out the best way to farm karma, and as a result I've gotten a lot of it. But even when I make my best effort to post and comment, nobody bridges the gap from anonymous reddit users to people I know in real life. <br><br>My issue with Facebook is that everyone is connected, but we are all still strangers. My wife will make a post, and half of her friends will support her and half will not. For instance, when Trump lost she put a celebratory post. Some of her "friends" were happy for her, and others were angry that she was happy that "their guy" lost. When Obama won his first election one of my former coworkers posted "better get all the guns and ammo we can now." I've never seen online such hatred from people who are supposed to be friends. So, I don't really use Facebook, and when I do I don't really post anything. <br><br>Part of my reason for leaving Reddit is that I have been using it as my primary social media tool for essentially my entire adult life. I have to move on from this. I have to learn to use other tools. I'm not sure where I'm going to go now, but I know I have to put in the effort. <br><br>I have a wife and two daughters. I'm a software engineer of 20 years. I've been to a mental hospital twice. I've attempted to kill myself three times. My first attempt was in January because my ex girlfriend had left me for someone else in November, which had ended the 8 year relationship we'd had. My second attempt was in March because I started drinking after the first attempt and just blacked out one night and woke up in the hospital. I made my third attempt in June or July (I don't remember). I went home immediately after being released from the hospital, and was there just long enough to grab a bottle of rum and sit on the beach and drink it. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital, where I learned I'd had my stomach pumped three times to empty it out. My mother used to tell me that if you take too many pills they give you charcoal and make you shit it out. I learned the hard way that this is a lie. <br><br>My father died from a drug overdose when I was 19 years old. I was an alcoholic at age 13. I really stopped drinking about 3 years ago. I still drink, but not much. I usually have one beer a week, and two on the weekends. My ex girlfriend used to joke that she was an alcoholic, but really it was me. She'd have a few beers a week. I'd have a few beers a night. I'd also drink whatever she left unfinished. I've always been a drinker. It's not something I've just become over time.<br><br>I hate being drunk. I hate the way it feels when you know you've had too much to drink. I hate the way it feels when you've had WAY too much to drink. But I also love the way it *makes* me feel, even though I hate how it feels. I'd rather feel good and hate the feeling than feel bad and hate my life. <br><br>For 23 years I've also had a problem with heartburn. When I was 13 my father had left my mother and me. My brother and sister were still young, so they stayed with my mom. I knew my dad would always look out for me, so I packed my bags and left to go live with him. I didn't tell anyone I was leaving, but my dad always kept an eye on me, and he could tell something was wrong. He said "I think your brother is going to move in with me," and I said "No, *I'm* going to move in with you." He was always a nice guy, but he was never there for me. At the time of this incident, I hadn't seen him in almost two years. <br><br>It was a very hard time in my life. I still haven't recovered. I still haven't forgiven my mother for making me live with her for 5 years after that. The diary I had at the time is the only one I've ever burned, and I've had many. I didn't want anyone to know what was in there. I didn't want anyone to know how much I hated her, and how much I missed my dad. Always. <br><br>For the first few months of living with him, I would just eat ramen noodles every night. It was all I could afford. I would get sick of ramen noodles, and I would leave the bag open on the counter when I was done with it and a few hours later I would get super heartburn. Now, I don't know why I'd get heartburn from stale ramen noodles, but it always happened. I still don't understand to this day. I know it's really strange. <br><br>So my dad comes up with a brilliant idea. I'll buy these really cheap "ramen noodle meals" that come in a box. If you've never had them before, essentially its what looks like ramen noodles, but with some dehydrated meat and some seasoning. They weren't really that good. I don't particularly remember them being bad either. The big difference is that the seasoning was so strong that the heartburn I felt afterwards was equal to what I felt with the stale noodles. So, I was essentially trading off one heartburn for another. <br><br>I don't feel like I can really describe it well, but I'm going to try. Your tongue and the roof of your mouth are part of your mouth. Your mouth is also part of your throat. Which is also part of your esophagus. The muscles in your throat create the separation between your mouth and esophagus. "Heartburn" is really your stomach acid coming up through your esophagus and into your mouth. So, imagine eating something spicy. You know that burning feeling? Imagine that same feeling, but in your mouth. Like your mouth is on fire. This is what I've experienced for 23 years of my life. It's not all the time. I don't know exactly what causes it. But I know spicy foods, or alcohol, will make it worse. I've been to doctors, and all they ever tell me is to stop drinking. As though I'm some sort of idiot who doesn't know that alcohol is going to make me feel worse. I've also been told that I'm an idiot for eating spicy food. I guess the point is that I can't really trust doctors. Or at least I didn't use to. <br><br>This is a story I've told to exactly one person. My wife. <br><br>I don't really tell people anything. I don't tell my mom anything. I don't tell my dad anything (when he was alive). I just don't talk about myself at all. <br><br>I'm sharing this story with you today because I've had a big change in my perspective over the past few weeks. I met a doctor that I can trust, and it has changed my outlook greatly. I've stopped drinking. I've stopped eating spicy foods. I've stopped eating hard candies. I didn't know they were doing it, but the hard butterscotch or peppermint or spearmint candies I was eating were creating puncture wounds in the lining of my mouth. This has been a really big change for me, and I'm really excited to see how my life changes over time. <br><br>Up until a few weeks ago my mouth has been in constant pain for 23 years. There isn't a single moment in my entire adult life that my mouth was free from pain. I still feel it now. But I know that it's just a scar healing. I've never had this feeling before. <br><br>When I was younger, I used to get heartburn really bad when I was laying in bed. So I would sit up all night. For a week or two at a time. The only time I would sleep was at work. I'd work second shift (2p-10p), and then I'd fall asleep at 4am on my dad's couch, with my head down on the coffee table. I would wake up to him shaking me, telling me it was time to get up for work. My job was only about a mile from his apartment, so I'd go there, take a quick shower, and then head to work. It was really hard. But that's my life. <br><br>I've had a lot of hard times. I've struggled a lot. But I'm not alone. I'm not telling you my story because it's somehow special or unique or more