My story.

I don’t really know where to start off. This is my first post so please don’t criticize me or anything.

Okay. So ever since I was a little kid, I mean little like 3, I’ve been terribly anxious. Anxious about anything and everything. And I don’t really have a reason, I just am. I’ve never really liked who I am, appearance, personality, etc. And in 5th grade I would constantly get made fun of and I just hated going to school. And then in 6th grade, I hated myself. I hated how I looked and I hated that other people were so much better.. So I would constantly try all these new diets, yes as a 6th grader, and I could never please myself.

So in 7th grade, I was about 12 or 13, I became depressed. And I started self harming. Only small cuts here and there. But it became an addiction. I would cut very frequently, and soon it wasn’t enough. So I would scratch myself when I didn’t have access to a razor. Or hit myself to cause a bruise. And having to hide these scars fed my depression. By the beginning of my 8th grade year, I was so badly depressed. I hated school, I hated people, and I hated myself.

So my freshmen year came and things were starting to look up. I would still self harm occasionally, but I wouldn’t consider it a huge problem at the time. I made straight A’s in all honors courses. I was in the marching band. I wasn’t happy, but I was far less sad.

And then that summer, I found out my mom was cheating on my dad. And they separated and my mom moved out and got her own place. And to top things off, within a month, the guy she was having an affair with, moved in without notice. I literally came home from band practice one day and all of his stuff was there and we had to meet him. So ever since then, I’ve had a hatred/disappointment for my mom.

Well my mom found out about my self harming problems so she set me up with a therapist and a psychiatrist. And I was diagnosed with major depression, bipolar disorder with psychotic features, OCD, and severe anxiety. So they prescribed me Abilify, Lamictal, and Seroquel. It’s safe to say that it had no effect on me whatsoever.

By the beginning of my sophomore year, I wanted to die. I would skip school at least 2 times a week. And being in all honors classes, I fell extremely behind. And all of the makeup work was just adding to my stress and depression. It’s not that I didn’t want to get it done, it’s that I physically felt incapable. I was exhausted all the time. And by this time, they were switching up my medications so much, I’ve lost track of what I’ve taken and what I haven’t.

In February of 2013, second semester of my sophomore year I was 15, my mom sent me to a psychiatric hospital for about 7 days because my self harming had gotten so bad. It was a place called Peninsula. And it sucked.

About 3 weeks after I had gotten out of Peninsula, I tried to kill myself. I overdosed on about 50 different pills, not enough to do any real damage. And my mom found out and took me to the nearest hospital. And they called mobile crisis and I ended up getting sent back to Peninsula for 8 days to stabilize myself. And after that I was in some Intensive Outpatient (IOP) therapy for about a month. Which is where I went to group therapy every day for about 3 hours for a month.

I hated myself and I was so unhappy and miserable.  After I discharged from IOP, I continued to take more pills than recommended. Not that I was trying to kill myself, just escape.

So it’s the beginning of my junior year, and I self harmed so so bad. It wouldn’t stop bleeding and it was incredibly deep. But I eventually got it under control and of course I didn’t tell anyone. Until two days later at school. I was having a panic attack in the middle of Spanish class so I basically just got up and ran out of the classroom and into the bathroom. And I stayed in there for a good 20 minutes. I eventually convinced myself to go to the nurse. And when I got there, I explained that I was having a panic attack. And she looked and pointed to my wrist and said “What’s that?” and I kind of just said nothing and hid my arm. But she was persistent and asked if she could see it. And I eventually showed it to her. I could tell she was trying not to panic and freak out for my sake. Because it was bad. So she cleaned it up and wrapped it. And then she called my mom to tell her about it. So I waited in the guidance counselor’s office until she got there. And when she did, she told me that I was going to be going away for a while to a residential treatment center called The Village.

I was there for 4 months. And it was hell but that’s another story. So I got out in January 2014 and for about 3 weeks, I was completely fine. Not self harming, less sad, socializing. But then I fell even further into depression.. I was more depressed and suicidal than I had ever been. So I tried to kill myself, again. But this time, I made sure I did it right (or so I thought). I took a variety of overall about 170 pills. And I spaced it out so that I wouldn’t vomit if I took all of them at once. And I passed out on the couch for about 2 days. And the next day, I awoke. And boy was I disappointed. So I went to school and around lunch I began to feel extremely weird. And I don’t know how to explain it. My vision and hearing was off and I was slurring my words and my coordination was messed up. So I, being a stupid teenager, decided it was a good idea to drive home. So I did and I almost killed myself and others by running people off the road. But I managed to get home safe and no one was hurt.

I ran inside and started bawling because I could barely see, hear, or walk. So I ran into my mom’s room crying and continuously saying I was sorry and she tried to comfort me and ask me what was wrong. But I could barely talk so it was extremely hard to understand me. But she knew something was not right so she called 911 and got an ambulance to come to our house. And I managed to tell her that I had taken a bunch of pills and she just started crying and saying it was going to be okay.

So the ambulance got there and I was barely able to function. I managed to get myself up, with help, and walk to the stretcher. And I got on the ambulance and it was a silent ride to the hospital. They didn’t pump my stomach because it had been 2 days since I had taken the pills and it was too late, they were already dissolved. So I was just closely monitored. I have permanent kidney damage that I have to go in every once in a while to check up on. And I ended up getting sent to this place two hours away called Parkridge Valley for about 8 days to stabilize me. And it wasn’t that bad.

But I got out and here I am now. Summer of my senior year and I couldn’t be less unhappy than I am. I’m miserable and I don’t know that I even want to get better. And I wish I could tell you that tomorrow’s better, but I’ve been through so many tomorrows and they’re all the same.  So my story is basically here for people who need to know that they aren’t alone. I have no advice or good words to tell you for the future. But I can tell you that you are not alone. And if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.

(A + for you if you read all of this)