This is my first and possibly last post. I actually stumbled on to this site not because of suicide, but rather because I’m trying to figure out how to get rid of other self-destructive habits. I bite my nails, scratch at my body and face, and this isn’t even the full extent of it. I was suicidal for a long time for various reasons, and I’m only now coming to realize that even if I get a long pretty well in the world, I still have scars to hide. There are still things that make me cry uncontrollably, but it’s ultimately the most calming thing I can do for myself right now as I challenge my past and future.
When did I first become depressed? I had a diary back in 6th grade. I can’t actually stand to read it at all because it reflects the uncontrollable mood swings of a young girl attempted to find any solace in a world that doesn’t recognize she needs help. At age 12, this was the first record that I was severely traumatized, and being wrapped in all of it, there was no way that I could possibly recognize the extent my troubles. I was numb to the world at best because if I wasn’t numb, I would be in pain. I don’t trust my memory completely because as the brain works, it tries to block out the worst bits. As far as I know, I was never physically abused, aside from getting slapped by my mother a few times for mouthing off when I got a bit older because I rebelled against the lifestyle my parents had set in front of me in an incoherent manner. The extent of abuse that I faced is unclear to me and seems to be completely emotional and psychological. Even though I knew I was depressed and began to be suicidal by age 12, I want to say that my apathy and hopelessness began much earlier. I don’t remember having any friends in school. I didn’t make friends for whatever reason. I didn’t really bother to interact with other kids at all. I remember that in 1st grade, I made a point to eat my lunch, go outside, and just sit by the door waiting for recess to be over. I didn’t play. I don’t know if that was a symptom of some underlying problem or just me being me as a kid. It’s hard to discern what was molded by trauma from the rest of me. I also know that by 5th grade I had written something along the lines of “I hate my father. He yells to much.” in some notebook. In this way, I feel like a large portion of my life was taken from me without my knowledge. I can’t tell if I was missing out on things as a kid because I ended up becoming wrapped up in pain as much as I tried to escape it all. I can’t ever get those years back. I can’t even figure out whatever happened back then because there was no one around to make an objective assessment of the situation. It was just my little family unit and the long lasting effects that has reverberated through myself and my siblings. Being the youngest has its good points in this case. I was a little too young for a lot of things. I had my brothers to protect me when necessary. I have the least recollection of the yelling and the fights that often didn’t involve me. It has also had it’s bad points. I was the last one to leave the house, and had to deal with new unfortunate events unraveling by myself. Worst of all, being a female, when a physical threats arose from my brother, I was all the more fearful. For a long time, the only thing I ever had nightmares about was my family. There was danger and no one to rescue me. How the hell did I survive at all?
I never actually attempted suicide, although I thought about a lot long and hard. I wished someone would just snatch my life for me. I had morbid thoughts about robbers coming and shooting me while I was just taking my bath. I still think about dying from time to time, but not at all with the same intensity. My life has perked up so much now that I’m in college and making my own way, but it hasn’t been perfect. I’m not suddenly all better just because I’ve escaped my home. I actually have close friends and some sort of support these days, the kinds of thing that I wish dearly that I could have had when I younger and facing the worst of it. Maybe I’d be facing less of what I’m facing now. Better, but not completely. I fit in on the surface, but it’s those little habits that show some level of stress pent up inside of me. I have often felt so miserable about my problems. Why couldn’t I just get over it and be happy? I should be better. I should be more like everyone else. I don’t want to talk about my reoccurring problem. People want to hear about things that they can fix and make go away, but no one can make what I have go away. There was never any obvious advantage to admitting everything. I never wanted to cause a fuss just because. I was cleaning up (or at least shoving into a corner) a mess that someone else left behind. There are a lot of times that I have no clue how I got through any of it. I never told anyone the complete story. This isn’t even the complete story. The complete story is long and emotional train wreck. I feel free to convey it here, but I won’t, or at least not now. I’ve already been through the worst of it. It has left what seems like permanent damage, but now that I have so much to live for, I want to fight it at every turn. I don’t want to hurt myself unconsciously anymore.
I think the hardest part about any of this is that people my age don’t necessarily get how horrible things that happened in the past resurface in all aspects of my life. I didn’t even realize it. How can I possibly handle something that I don’t even know the full extent of? I may not be killing myself today or tomorrow, but it doesnt mean that I dont have battle wounds that rise to the surface, making attempts at better seem out of reach. Even though I’ve limited myself to mostly those nasty personally destructive habits, I still have the fear that my friends would think less of me if they knew a something a little closer to everything. Typing these words makes me feel like I haven’t gotten over suicide at all, but rather, it’s just embedded in a very different form. That doesn’t worry me too much because realizing the extent of my problems makes me feel more prepared to tackle things so that if more horrible things ever happen to me, I won’t ever resort to suicidal feelings ever again. I might even break my habits of hair pulling and scab picking along with all the others. If there is anything to hold on to, grab at it and let it pull you to some safety zone where you can final assess things with a clear mind. Nothing has to be forever. I see my parents now, and I know they have passed down some degree of abuse that they faced as kids. I’m ready to make a clean break from it all, or at least as much a I can because my family is still my family. Even if I spend as much time as I can away from home, the drama hasn’t quite ended, and this is my seemingly eternal battle.
Lastly, if anyone wants someone to talk to or just a new friend, I’m all ears. If anyone actually took the time to read all of this, thanks. I don’t know how helpful any of this actually is to anyone considering that the “things will get better”/”see how things could be” method doesn’t really cut it. It will always be hard to be in a dark place, especially if the circumstances are out of your control.