I'd say dropping out of college was the beginning of the end. I got through two years of community and a year and a half of university. At the time, I honestly thought I might finish. I was handling my mental issues well enough, I actually didn't mind being around my roommates, and my grandfather had saved up more than enough funds for all 4 of his grandchildren to go to school so going a few years over to finish wasn't an issue (plus it was really a pretty cheap school to start with).
For a while, I didn't even feel like I had that many issues socializing. Sure, I was awkward as fuck, but that's not uncommon. I would still genuinely get along with some people (hell, I still keep in contact with one of my old roommates who also dropped out), but looking back, I was probably "that guy" to a lot of people, I was just really oblivious and/or didn't give a shit.
Anyway, somewhere along the line, I started falling apart. I was falling behind, I couldn't take the pressures of day to day life. I was told my bipolar medication wasn't working as well anymore, so it had to get changed up a bit. The stuff they put me on didn't work, to say the least. I started having panic attacks frequently to a ridiculous extreme, and it fucked me up left, right, and sideways.
Long tl;dr short, I took an indefinite "medidcal leave" from college and I've been feeling progressively worse, trying a shitton of meds that don't work, though lately, I've been adapting a little too well to the life of a shut-in. It honestly scares me thinking where I'll be in a few more years.