failed seven too many times

I may seem like the kind of person that would always be happy since my life is “perfect” and my family is “normal” but if that was your first impression of me, you would be mistaken.  I’ve had anxiety issues and problems expressing my feelings ever since I can remember.  Anxiety attacks and temper tantrums were quite common as a young child.  I can remember always worrying about one thing or another.  Yes I prayed about it, but sometimes I felt as though I was a burden on God.  I’m not important enough to Him.  I mean He has to worry about others who have it was worse than I do, right?

I discovered self harm as a twelve-year-old.  I started scratching myself with paper clips.  As a seventh-grader, I didn’t know much except for the fact that it felt good.  As I grew older, the scratching didn’t have the same affect that it used to.  I tried digging my claws into my skin until it really stung and sometimes even bled a little bit.  But, still, I craved more…

I’d say it had to be about halfway through my freshman year of high school when I started feeling sad all of the time for no reason at all.  I just kind of brushed it off and continued to harm myself.  I started using scissors to slice through my skin to relieve my emotional pain.  This continued through my sophomore year as well. It was getting harder and harder to satisfy my blood lust…

Towards the end of my sophomore year, I noticed that intense anger had joined in on the party.  Not only did I experience major mood swings, but they were the extremes on both sides of the spectrum.  Giddiness where I would laugh at everything and anything all the way to hatred towards everyone and basically the whole world.  I was even willing to hurt others to get them off of my back…

The hopelessness got even worse.  I started failing classes and I just stopped caring about life in general.  I saw no point in going on.  One night it was so bad that I put one of my belts around my neck and tightened it until I could no longer breathe. But, I got scared and chickened out.  Instead, I cowardly grabbed a pocketknife…

That following summer was when things really got bad.  I was diagnosed with clinical depression and anxiety.  I also discovered that I was mildly bipolar and possibly schizophrenic.  I tried to overdose on my newly prescribed medication, but again, failed.  I can’t count how many times I’ve cut too deep or attempted suicide since then.  My parents think they’re helping my recovery by threatening to have me transferred to another school, yelling at me for relapsing, and even sending me to a mental hospital…