My story

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Hello,

This is a bit lengthy, so thanks in advance for reading; no worries if you'd rather not slog through all this:

Rather than start from my childhood, I'll start somewhere more recent.

2008 was a difficult and important year for me. I took on my first "real" job out of college, doing filing and data entry for an airlines, earning just enough money to live in an apartment on my own, with periodic help from my parents. The job was generally mindless, repetitive, and solitary. I could sit in a chair, listen to music, and do my work without people bothering me for the most part. I didn't connect with any co-workers; some of them tried breaking the ice with me, e.g. by inviting me to lunch, but they did so on an irregular basis, and more-or-less stopped after a while. Whatever. I wasn't there to make friends; I was just there to punch in, punch out, and walk home, where I could do a light bit of reading, dawdle around, and occasionally see friends.

At some point, I started to become increasingly troubled. I can almost remember where I was in the office when it seemed to hit me: "This is life. This is it." What did I have in mind by "this"? I eventually answered, "Loneliness and toil."

I was 22, hadn't made a single friend when in college (but knew some high-school buddies in my hometown), hadn't had a girlfriend since age 16; and now that I had a full-time job, I had to spend roughly half my waking hours participating in activities that I came to despise - what was easy and mindless had somehow become endless, meaningless drudgery; the challenge every day was to mentally wrestle myself into an agreeable stupor in which, if successful, I more-or-less forgot where I was and what I was doing. That was the only way I could function. "To work," I told myself, "is by definition to go to a place where you'd rather not go, to do things you'd rather not do." I was exhausted by the end of it, and when I went home, I could only be tormented by the fact that soon I'd have to go back to work again.

This was indeed as good as things would get for me. I became depressed. I started cursing the sunrise in the morning. I thought about voluntary homelessness, and I thought about suicide. I finally took advantage of the mental health benefits offered by my employer. I was referred to a therapist, who referred me to the "stress center" where I got to take a couple months off for daytime group therapy and psychiatric care. (It was like a little vacation!)

I was diagnosed with depression. And once I graduated from group therapy, I was connected with a therapist who would see me on an individual basis every month. I still see a therapist to this day.

Also, I met someone in group therapy. She became the first and only woman to whom I've professed love in my adult life, although we were together for a couple months. (The "I love you" was definitely premature, however euphoric those two months were.) She dumped me after I decided to move back in with my parents in order to figure out my professional life. She was an RN, four years older than me; she described herself (pompously, in retrospect) as an "established professional". The way in which she dumped me was unbelievably cruel and abusive, and left me in terrible shape for about a year; I was not only depressed, but also consumed with hatred, both for this individual and for the world she represented, the world I'd never be good enough for. (It'd take too many words to go into detail about this, and this post is already too wordy.)

I've been living with my parents ever since, trying to get "back on my feet". (More on that in a moment.) One woman was kind enough to start a very short-lived relationship with me; it began and ended in the summer of 2011. I didn't have strong feelings for her, so it was much less painful to be dumped this time. (I was once again dumped on account of my work situation.) Other than that, I've racked up several rejections on the online dating scene, and only a couple unremarkable, one-time-only dates; I got awfully excited about one a few months ago, but before I could ask her out, I was rejected when I revealed that I live with my parents. I've been similarly unlucky with the small handful of women I've had promising interactions with in person; they were either unavailable or disingenuous/flaky. On the whole, my "love life" has, on average, caused me to feel suicidally depressed once every several months; but in general, I try my best to be content with what (intellectually) seems the most likely outcome - lifelong singledom. (Emotionally, I can't help but feel blindly hopeful now and again.)

What of my professional life? Well, I took about four years to get my MA in philosophy, without working a job. (Parents and student loans took care of my expenses.) The idea was to turn my passion into a career, but unfortunately, I hadn't been very well informed about the academic job market. (Or I was blindly optimistic, like so many grad students seem to be.) I read recently that you'd have a better chance of surviving the Titanic than getting a job as a "real" professor in the humanities - not merely an adjunct professor. That sounds about right to me.

I worked as an adjunct professor for three semesters, earning less than $6,000 overall, with (as is virtually standard) nothing in the way of health benefits, and nothing in the way of opportunities for promotion. I contemplated suicide on one or two occasions each of those three semesters. This was supposed to be the culmination of years of study - I never had a "Plan B" - but I wasn't moving out of my parents', and I was barely cut out for classroom instruction. My students were generally apathetic, mediocre performers, often blatantly irresponsible, often blatantly rude - one of them had the nerve to criticize my speaking voice in front of the class. (Flat, monotone, not very enthusiastic.) A few of them were nice, however. But public speaking is something I can do with passable competence at best, and facilitating interpersonal dialogue is even more of a challenge.

Okay, I think that's enough background. Where am I today?

The therapist who had diagnosed me with depression had also diagnosed me with mild symptoms of Asperger's. Again, this was in 2008. I accepted the diagnosis only last week, and came out to my friends on Facebook:

Welcome to Wrong Planet!

in the US, a person can work and be on disability. on SSDI (based on work history) a person can earn 1070 per month (for 2014) and receive their entire benefit. on SSI (based on need), the first 85 you make is free and clear. after that $1 of your benefit is taken back for every $2 you make.