hi(24/m),

it's been years since I've had a Reddit account, but lurking on this subreddit for the past 24 hours or so has convinced me that I should reach out.
I've been diagnosed with a number of illnesses over the past couple of years (major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety, bipolar ll, adhd) related to substance abuse, primarily alcohol. 

It's safe to say that my drinking has effectively ruined my life up to this point (I'll save the details for r/stopdrinking eventually,) and I've gotten sober again, but I've just never been able to fucking wrap my mind around it, you know? Alcoholism is a symptom, but I've never been able to reconcile this part of me, this person who would again &amp; again fall into these chasms of such worthlessness, such despair, such fear, guilt, shame that I would have these blackout episodes where I would lash out, derealize, become like an animal backed into a corner when otherwise (ie sober) I've rarely if ever been known to show angry or violent tendencies...I mean what the fuck is that? I would just drink without any conception of consequence or self respect, and I'd become a savant at rationalizing each drink.

sigh. Anyway, I've never considered a possible bpd diagnosis (i think I was tangentially researching l'art brut via renewed interest in Sufjan Stevens Age of Adz album or something ridiculous like that which led me to this sub) nor have any of my therapists, I don't think. The most recent one I had seen for a year ending this past October, during which time I was sober...by the end of our sessions the diagnosis of bipolar had been thrown out &amp; I was being prescribed adderall, which I chose to discontinue (it made me more confident socially &amp; read the books I wanted, but...)

I still was unable to see reality. For years I have daydreamed these wild delusions of grandeur dissociated from my actual identity - I was an aspiring writer once, but my feelings of incredibly low self esteem combined with the expectations of the daydreams, this idealized self make it so I haven't picked up the pen in god knows how long, to the point where a sense of dysphoria has long ago set in and I literally have not known who I am in so so long. 

Reading the posts here, everything makes sense to me (and yes, I have the reservations of a possible Imposter Syndrome happening here) - an abusive childhood, my history of cheating/jumping from one girl to the next almost seamlessly to avoid being alone, prolonging these relationships even when I was filled with unhappiness because I reached a point where I expected them to take care of me, to validate myself with their presence, my tendency socially to isolate, cut people out of my life for these slight faults that I would endlessly dramatize, never wanting anyone to get too close...

TL;DR: I could go on. I don't expect a diagnosis from anyone, but I would be so happy if someone had the time to inbox me, if we could just talk.

I've never felt so aligned with a possible diagnosis after all this time. The relief, though, is offset with the cruel irony that my writing career - a path I chose because I wanted to be loved, adored - has most likely been most negatively affected by the emptiness I have finally come to recognize in myself - that all my heart has known are selfish, desperate feelings. I have never dared for a moment to let the world in.