Struggle For Survival, My Story of Hope

I’ve struggled with depression since I was 12 years old. I wanted to die; I was scared of death, but I had no idea what else to do. I didn’t have friends and I was an outsider in my family. All my conversations with them turned to terrible arguments. I hated my life. At age 13, I began cutting myself. It kept me sane, and let me live without so much misery. Then my mom found out. I kept doing it, but soon my whole family knew. I quit, but the damage was done. My arms were badly scarred and the stares i got from people just hurt. I saw such disguist in their eyes, and i began to hate myself. So i secretly started again. Then I had a best friend. He was amazing…but he figured out i was a cutter. He hated it, but dedicated himself to helping me. He spent all of his free time after school and on weekends with me. Then he got a girlfriend and wouldn’t talk to me anymore. He walked out of my life; something he’d promised on almost a daily basis that he would never do. He was the 3rd friend in 2 years to leave me. I decided if that many people could do that to me, I must be a terrible person. So about 9 months ago, I swallowed over 50 pills in a suicide attempt. I woke up 3 days later in the Intensive Care Unit. I had barely made it. Doctors said that I very nearly died. And I was angry, angry that I had been found, angry that those doctors succeeded…angry that I wad still alive. Then, 2 days later, on my 17th birthday, I was transferred to a mental health center for youth. I hated it there. They showed no support…and they judged me for what I had done. They released me after a week. I came home and my parents ignored me. They made me see a therapist who would insult me. Finally, a few months ago, my parents began talking to me again, they trusted me, and took me off of my anti-depressants. I still get urges to cut. I have moments where I wish that I had died on that night 9 months ago. But there are far more moments where I am so grateful to be alive. I know that it’s hard to feel alone, or worthless, or unloved, and to feel death is the only way out. I fight to find reasons to live on some days. I am still covered in scars, and the memories of the attempt haunt me. But I just had to find it in myself to love who I am and to know that I am not what others think of me, I am not my scars, or my past. I am who I am; and who I am is a good person who has a life worth living. And if you’re reading this and you feel like death is the only way out; it’s not. There is a way to live that is healthy and good. And you have a purpose in this world. You are important, and your life is important. There is hope.