My life. Such as it is.

I’m 35, but I’ve been battling with depression and suicidal thoughts since I was a child. I was fat and smart in school. A perfect candidate for ridicule. Which I endured. Home wasn’t much better. My 2 brothers didn’t like me, and my mother is an alcoholic. My father worked all the time and when ever my mom and I would fight, and I tried to talk to my dad about it, I would be told not to since, because I was “trying to pit him against his wife, and she would win every time.” I ran away. When I was brought home by the police, I made my first attempt by trying to hang myself with my fathers necktie in the closet of my room. I was in grade 5. I was then brought to a child psychologist. I thought everything we talked about was in confidence. I even asked her. She lied. I only found out during the family meeting, when some man I had never met told my parents and brothers everything I said. I was beyond embarrassed and ashamed. I was able to stick it out for the next 2 years. During grade 8 I couldn’t take it again. I ran away again. I went to my aunts house, and begged not to be brought back. They did anyway. I was put in foster care the next day. I was forced to go to therapy. After my previous experience I wouldn’t trust them; and I told them as much. I would spend the time in the sessions silent. They would try and get me to talk to them. I wouldn’t. That is when I started developing insomnia. My parents got me back after a year, they jumped through the required hoops so they wouldn’t lose my brothers. And they promptly sent me away for the summer to stay with an aunt for the summer. Things were alright there. But it wasn’t to last. My family moved at the end of that summer. I made a friend. My first real one. I was in grade 9. One time when I was asked if I wanted to go there for supper. He was standing in the doorway when I asked my mom. She slapped me. Told me that I was putting her on the spot, and would not let me go. She was standing at the top of the stairs, I was one step down. That’s when I told her that if she ever touched me again, I would throw her down the stairs. She has barely touched me since. My family had to move again, the next summer. Again, new school, no friends. Got made fun of again. When I was in grade 10 my mom and I were still arguing, a lot. She one day called a family meeting. Told us that she was leaving, and that it was my fault. My brothers, on instructions from my father, took all my knives. I had started a collection at that time. I still haven’t gotten them back. I spent the rest of the night in my room crying. My father convinced my mom to stay. And a week after my 18th birthday, I was kicked out. I had made a couple of real friends by this time, and I moved in with one of them. This is when my anorexia started. I would go days with out eating. Not because I felt I had to lose weight, but because I had no desire to eat. No one knew. I graduated high school and spent the next year on welfare. Looking for a job and failing. I then tried college, and didn’t finish my first year. I moved away for college and lost most of my friends. When I moved back afterwards I was back on welfare, just now I was in debt. I was able to hack it out for the most part. I was eating mostly normally. But I still was depressed. Ten years later, I’ve had some relationships, but with the worst breakup I’ve dealt with, I lost it again. I wasn’t eating again. And again I started to self harm. I was 26. I was working midnights. I was awake for 2 days. I started cutting deeper and deeper. I had no friends at this time. At least none who I could trust with this information. I actually put myself in the hospital. Thought it would be smart. Bit of course then came the psyc’s again. I was lucky enough to get one that was actually half descent… he even noticed me trying to turn the tables on him… me trying to beat him at his own game… I got a bit better again. Now, back at it again, hence this post. Over the last 2 years, I’ve been homeless for half of it on and off. I’ve just lost a relationship, and I’m afraid I’m going to be homeless again soon. I didn’t realize that I had stopped eating until 2 days later… Yesterday… And the only friend I can talk to about this is my ex… I cry as I write this… I’m just so afraid I’ll cut again… or worse… and the worst thing is when I get highly emotional like this, I literally get so choked up that I can’t make words… literally… I lose the ability to speak… so I write… so here I am… writing to you… because I can’t talk…