It’s been a long road for me these past couple years. I’ll start my story from when I was 11.
My dad had a job where he was constantly working out of town. It was me, my brother Mark, and my mama for most of my life. My parents would fight constantly over every little thing, and finally my mother started going out with guys, leaving Mark to take care of me at home.
All of the guys were jerks that ended up hurting my mom and leaving her. The arguments between my parents became worse and worse.
I always wondered what it would be like to jump off my three story balcony and end the pain. I cut for the first time when I was 12.
When I was 13, my mom was seeing a guy named Vince, who is now my stepfather. My parents divorced, and shortly after my mother remarried. My brother was stationed in Afghanistan, and my father was left with the burden of taking care of an emotionally unstable 13 year old girl. Â Needless to say, he did thebest he could and we get along alright now.
I was in counseling at the time, and told my counselor that I was having suicidal thoughts. She sent me to a place called River woods. I stayed there a whole, and then went back home.
When I came out to my parents and was not accepted, I spiraled deeper and deeper and deeper into depression.
At age 14 I’d lost a lot of hope. I went home one Sunday, made a call to my friend telling her I was going to kill myself, then went into my room, shut the door, and started preparing. I wrote out my suicide note, placed it on my door, put on some sad music, pulled out the knife I’d been hiding in my room for so long, laid down on my bed with the knife right up to my heart, and put a blanket in my mouth to muffle my screams.
My cat was in the room at the time, watching me. I remember thinking: If I die, who’s going to look after you? And then I slowly put the knife down, and called up the suicide hotline. I went to a new place called Peachford, and stayed there for a while, and then went back home.
At age 15 the depression peaked, and I went back to Peachford, stayed, and went home about a week later.
Just last summer I began to accept myself, and the depression is, for the most part, gone. Though I do occasionally suffer small and very brief relapses.
I though I’d put this out there to see if it could help any of you. I’m here if anyone ever needs to talk. This sounds really corny and cliche, but it’s true: things do get better. It just takes a while, that’s all.
2 comments
Your story is very sad and seems entirely too common as I see very similar stories here a lot more than you would think.
I’m glad you’re feeling better and I really hope you’re not heavily medicated as I don’t believe children need a pharmacy in their bodies.
Know that in time, it’s your story that you’ll be telling. Your adult story. And you’ll be writing it very soon. Keep the chapters as cheery as you can and if/when you have children of your own, never forget how badly they need you no matter how different you may seem from each other.
Yes,some just can’t be as patient has you have been. You seeked for help at the right places so I guess that really helped. It is good that you are better. May u be well in time.