Apologies if this comes across as being offensive, it's not my intention to upset anyone here, but I'm trying to diagnose myself here, due to the health service being shit, and me feeling like a hollow, emotionless husk of a man right now.

A bit of background about me - I was a teacher, teaching English in South East Asia. I have taken drugs recreationally my whole life, pretty much, and I was prescribed SSRIs since I was 16 years old. I still consider myself to have been a child at 16 years old, though, and, indeed, I still consider myself to be a child nowadays, despite being in my mid 30s. 

I went through a particularly harrowing divorce when I was about 4 years old, my mother absconded with myself and my brother with my step father, an event that left me "inconsolable" for weeks, according to my dad. 

My dad got custody of my brother and I, so we went to live with him. I was abused by a neighbour when I was a child. I don't want to use the term abused, but since I was about 5 years old at the time, and the other kid was older than I was, I think it's called peer on peer child abuse.

I went on to have quite a happy childhood, as I had buried all memories of the abuse. I became a bit of a nightmare when I was a teenager, smoking cigarettes, then weed, then ecstasy, LSD, cocaine, heroin, the lot. I had at TIA, or mini stroke in my mid 20s due to smoking heroin.

I've lived alone for most of my life, I've never had what you might call a serious relationship, despite me being for the most part funny and not hideously unattractive. I worked in oil for many years, then the opportunity to teach English overseas presented itself to me, so I took it. I took a two or three month supply of my SSRIs with me, then I quit, cold turkey. I felt happier because I was living in another culture. Asian culture can be very rewarding, especially to a white male. (They can be racist as fuck towards other Asians, black people, but white people get preferential racism there. You'll get stared at in the street by kids and old men alike, but it's not so bad).

I moved around a lot, creating circles of friends, then moving to another city. I settled in Cambodia, where it's like the wild west. You can do whatever the hell you want there, more or less, and there's some shady, dark shit you could get up to, if you were inclined. Not for me, though.

My life was going great, my dad came all the way to Cambodia to see me, and he remarked that I was as happy as he'd ever seen me. I was still abusing drugs, but I was happy. I was drinking too much, too.

Then I discovered ketamine. I'd already taken ketamine, in powdered form, but you can buy it OTC in liquid form there, which you inject into the muscle, or the vein if you feel up to it. I started using that as a recreational drug, too, although it's not the kind of thing you can do in public, for obvious reasons. I then became aware of a beneficial aspect to it, in that my mood was better and my confidence was increased, so I started self medicating with it. I took a lot, probably more than one man has ever taken before. I blew my mind, lost my job and had to go home for a month, but I was still happy and confident. I went back, first to China, where I was fired after a month in my job, so I moved back to Cambodia, where I struggled to get a job, due to the coronavirus. I hit the ketamine again, and I also decided, in one day, to get a hand tattoo, which effectively rules me out of teaching ever again. The one job I was good at and I loved, gone, because I decided a hand tattoo would be a good idea. I also took 600mg of diazepam with a bottle and a half of red wine, which I thought should have been a lethal dose. I don't know why I did that. I didn't want to die, but I sort of felt compelled to.

I have a lot of tattoos, and I used to let my friend in Cambodia practice on my legs, because, why the fuck not?

I came home again, and was placed in quarantine, because I had symptoms of the virus. I don't have it, I've got the all clear, but those 5 days at home, alone, isolated, left me a broken shell of a man. I started taking online tests, for depression, which I clearly have, but this isn't like the depression I used to have. This is much worse. I took a test for bipolar, narcissistic personality disorder, I took them all. I took one for BPD, and that's the one that really resonated with me, the one that I thought most of the symptoms seemed to match what I feel like. I'll go into that in more detail if anyone is interested. 

 I know very little about BPD, in fact, I thought it was an abbreviation for bipolar disorder until recently. I'm waiting for an appointment with a professional, but that could take two more weeks, in which time I fear I'll lose the plot completely.

I've been at home, alone, and in the company of my brother and his girlfriend. I feel much better when I have company. I can laugh at stuff then. When I'm alone, I can literally watch stuff I know I'd normally find funny and not even crack a smile. I've been writing, a stream of consciousness mostly.

Is a psychiatrist going to get pissed off with me for coming to them with this self diagnosis? Should I be this self aware?

Again, sorry if I've offended anyone. I feel sneaky as fuck writing this, I don't know why. I'll be happy to go into more detail if anyone is willing to engage with me on this.

Thanks