*\[Male, 17\] I'll mark this post as NSFW just in case, since there are a few grey areas in this post.*

*Previously, I had posted several times in* r/depression*, when my depressed mood was the most of my concerns. It's quickly been overtaken by my anxiety issues, which have made things worse.*

**A lot worse.**

I should say, if you're not one for long posts, especially extremely long posts, I'd tune out.

For the past two-to-three years, my life has been a mental struggle comparable to going to Hell before you die. I had previously been put on two medications to try and 'fix' my anxiety, which only caused my mental health to spiral even worse into a seemingly inescapable pit with only one way to go; down. 

The medications my psychiatrist had gotten me on were Zoloft and Effexor, specifically. Zoloft effected me rather negatively, but was easy to get off of.

Now, Effexor... that motherfucking evil medication... It made a full three months of my life pure pain and anguish. It took long as all ungodly molasses to get off of, and made me question how the fuck this shit was even legal.

I'm not one to drop swears liberally, but this medication was pain in a dissolvable capsule. It gave me terrible panic attacks, complete with racing heartbeat, mental distress, stomach distress, nausea, and the gnawing sense that I was dying; which I still feel lucky that I hadn't.

Except, maybe a little bit less-so now. Even after getting off of that medication, the effects rippled for several weeks, and may have even given me a form of PTSD from how bad the side effects were. While  I was on the medication, I feel like I couldn't walk faster than a snails pace without falling dead on the ground from cardiac arrest. Since then, my life has only worsened, not giving my the slightest break.

Ever other Sunday, I used to go to church with my grandmother. It was one of the few places where I felt safe; where it felt peaceful. The pastor was an extremely nice guy, and I would often stop to talk with him on the way out. Some days, I would even go out for lunch with my grandmother, and some of her church friends.

She did everything she could to make me happy. I would go as far as to say she was the only family member on my mom's side who realized that I'm not a normal person. She wasn't a very financially secure person, but she would do anything she could for me within reason. She took me on the entire covered bridge tour of Northeast Ohio, and used to play pretend games with me when I was a lot younger; something my mother neglected to do, telling me to find my own fun, despite her living in the middle of nowhere.

But she was too nice for this world, so the world had to take her from me. 

I can't remember how old she was when she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Stage 3, specifically.  
We were at first devastated, but she had actually managed to beat the odds numerous times and lived from between 5-10 years longer than expected.

At her service, the pastor described her perfectly, saying that for years of her life she had been suffering, but never once complained. She had truly enjoyed her life despite her struggles, and was surrounded by people who loved her.

I wish I could say the same for my suffering.

After I lost her, it became impossible to go to church, with my mom working during Sundays, and my stepfather having an unpredictable work schedule due to his line of work. (Roofing).

Things would only get worse from here.

My anxiety had become almost crippling bad, compounded by my ADHD medication no longer working for me. My work ethic, productivity, and motivation had dropped significantly, with my procrastination only becoming chronic and uncontrollable; even for tasks with solid deadlines. Personal projects became a thing of the past as I could barely even stand academically, compounded with advanced classes and it being my Junior Year.

Weekends would become unenjoyable; with even four-day weekends becoming anxiety-filled for the following week of school. I have essentially declared myself as single since my GF could no long even keep contact with me since she kept losing her phone and getting into trouble. \[Content Warning\] Most recently, &gt;!she had sent nude photos of herself to an online stranger,!&lt; rubbing salt into my wounds, suggesting that her statement: "Why did I even go out with you?" might not have been a joking statement.

Within the span of a few years my life had become a sequence of inescapable suffering, with myself being unable to even go back to my mother's house anymore  due to the stress and mental anguish my stepfather gives me. No matter what I do, it's never good enough. If I miss a spot on the counter I'm irresponsible. If I sleep through eight alarms despite my best attempts, then I'm lazy. My stepfather basically sees me as a testosterone-lacking pussy of a man, which has severely effected my mental health over there.

I've also been unable to confront my stepfather about his behavior towards me after what my mother said on vacation to me once. Now, I know she didn't mean to say this, she has her own issues which she's being treated for, and I can't blame her. However, this hurt me to my core. She had told me (and my stepbrother) on vacation that she wasn't going to let "two spoiled, bratty kids ruin \[her\] relationship."

Even since then, my stepdad had told me, flat out, that basically if their relationship fails, it's my fault. So instead, I held my emotions in and suffered quietly until I completely fucking lost it, twice actually. The first time I had cut myself to the point of drawing blood; which prompted my dad to get mental health specialists for me, and the second time, I had gotten into a full yelling and swearing fight with my stepfather WHILE I was on the phone with my dad; which prompted him to remove me from the household.

I still love my mother though. She may not be like my dad, but she's also not like my stepfather. She understood that I need time away to recover, while my stepfather would simply ask: "So how long are you going to be away for?" Implying that I was running off and never returning.

In fact, this same sentiment made me stop going to my grandmother's house to go to church with her,  with him guilt tripping me and making me feel like I was running away from my problems.

Since then, I've been a complete wreck. I can no longer even return to their house without having a panic attack within half-an-hours advance. My anxiety is now so bad that for seemingly no reason I can break out into anxiety attacks, or, occasionally, even full-on panic attacks. On the lower end, I can become shaky, break into sweats, feel too hot, feel too cold, have a loss in appetite, and have an increase in heartrate which can last between a few minutes and a few hours. My doctors determined that my heart function was fine and that my blood pressure was good, which rules out any direct cause for the last one. (My heartrate never exceeds 120 BPM, but the worst case, which was on Effexor, was 150 BPM.)

The worst case is a panic attack with similar symptoms similar to that of Effexor, albeit numbed down significantly.

And, if you want an idea of how bad my mental health is, I'm a heavily college-geared person who wants to become a meteorologist, but I wish I could be held back a year in high school, just so I don't have a fucking aneurysm. 

Part of me is even tempted to turn this post into a Google document and submit it to the school as an essay so they know how far underwater I truly am; and I'm a A-Geared rule-abiding suck-up.

I'm also not the only one who's been distraught by my mental health. So has my father.

He has felt that no matter what he does for me, nothing works to help my mental health.  
He has gone from doctor to doctor, trying medication after medication, but to no clear solution. He's in a completely helpless state where he feels like he can't even help his own son.

I would describe my father as being an average man. He works a semi-office job as head of facilities for a career center. We probably fall into 'upper middle-class.' However, more and more, I feel that all I'm doing is racking up my father more and more medical bills for things that aren't working.

Thanks to living in the good old U. S. of A, I'm worried about bankrupting my father just to keep my mental health in check. 

Right now, I don't know what I would do without him, or my mother. If I lost either of them right now...  I wouldn't be able to guarantee my safety.