The only thing keeping me alive is that I’m ironically afraid of dying

No one will probably read this but I’d like to pretend they will because I can’t tell anyone I know.

I’m almost 17 years old and I’ve had general anxiety since the day I was born, and severe clinical depression since I was 7. In the last two years, my life has hit 20,000 leagues under the sea. My depression has gotten worse and worse and I’ve tried so many different medications and none work, which doesn’t help ease the ache of what’s been happening. December 17, 2013 I started dating one of my best friends, and I was head over heels in love. I was already in a really bad place when we started dating, but he didn’t know until a month or two into the relationship how bad it was. Essentially, I was the worst girlfriend ever because my depression was crippling. I would sleep all day on weekends, so I never saw him outside of school, I was very moody and would snap at him easily, and we had a couple of breakups, one only a week long, and one 4 months long. At the time, he was so good to me; constantly taking photos of us, getting me little (but nice) things, inviting me out to events with his family, and just being there for me in every way. He was the best boyfriend I could ask for, and I wasn’t worthy of him. After our 4 month breakup we started our freshman year of high school and it was obvious we both still clearly liked each other a lot, but he had strong doubts I really did because when he asked I said I still wasn’t ready to get back together. So, while I was out for 2 weeks with pneumonia not able to see him, we got in a fight, and I didn’t tell him I loved him when he left, and the next day he was dating a girl who liked him. I was an emotional wreck, which I had already been since I was on steroids to help me recover. I was constantly texting him and just trying to get his attention. 2 weeks later, their relationship ended and he talked to me, overly apologetic, about what had happened and how much he missed me. We got back together shortly after and stayed together until the following March. He was still basically the best boyfriend, even bringing me back a very nice(and expensive) ring and necklace with my birthstone from New York for our 1 year anniversary, but I was a girl with depression and now had constant self doubt that he really loved me after he dated this girl. I was sick again(mostly emotionally), and had been out of school off and on for a month, when he texted me breaking up. Being an absolute wreck, I acted impulsively and ran to the school where he was with his friends in hopes to fix things because I felt this had to do with the fight we had had the day before. By the time I got there, I was having a panic attack, was a sobbing mess, was having an asthma attack, and my ankles were gushing blood because I ran a whole mile in canvas flats. When I got there his friends (who up until this time claimed to be mine too) were clearly amused at how I was acting and how dumb I seemed, and I proceeded to get into a fight with my boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend, as I attempted to convince him we could fix things while trying to calm my failing lungs, when he decided to tell me he hadn’t loved me since we got back together, and had been using me for sex, since we lost our virginity to each other about a month after getting back together. In my emotional state, my reaction was one of anger, and I punched him in the face sobbing, then a teacher came and broke it up and his friends laughed at me so I screamed at them (of course you can imagine how embarrassing this whole situation was for me). At this point, I was also late for my period and in somewhat of an anxious state thinking of the possibility of being pregnant, and now we were broken up. My “friends” were supportive, by keeping me updated on him and the girl who had actually broken us up, evidentially, who was his best friend and whom I had trusted greatly. (As you can figure they probably shouldn’t of kept me updated because I kept trying to contact him and even had someone inform him of the fact there was a possibility I was pregnant). I also learned through a friend that he had made out with the girl who had broken us up at her birthday party, only a week after our break up. I made a very half hearted suicide attempt during this time, and then got in contact with a mutual friend of my ex and I, and somehow ended up in a situation where I was able to talk to my ex-boyfriend and we worked things out, and on his conditions we got back together, and although they were very terrible such as having to make a genuine attempt to get along with his friends (one of still being the girl who broke us up), I accepted instantly because I loved him and needed him back in my life. At this point I was constantly having panic attacks and needing reassurance that he still loved me, and he claimed he hadn’t meant the things he said when we broke up, and that he was angry and was trying to get me to just hate him so he wouldn’t have to hurt me more and I’d just be mad. Eventually, his terms for our relationship continuing fell through and he dropped the friend group who had treated me so terribly and apologized for even asking me to get along with them. But by this point, he was so tired of my anxiety and depression and need for reassurance so the romantic gestures lessened and we had more spats. He stopped taking photos of us, wasn’t as willing to stay up with me to talk late when I needed someone, and the small gifts from when he thought about me stopped too. We were exclusively attached to each other and the few friends we hung out with were mutual best friends (which isn’t a good thing that we had nothing making us our own people). We were still in love, though, and our relationship continued for another year. Not without faults though. We had lots of arguments and my depression continued to get worse. We were happy as a couple though, or at least I’m pretty sure we both thought so. In about December of our junior, we started to fall apart quite a bit. I was interested in another boy(most likely because he was giving me the attention I wanted so badly from my own boyfriend) and some racey photos ended up sent. I couldn’t live in the guilt and keep it from my boyfriend, and he was upset, but we stayed together, although he lost quite a bit of trust in me. It was around that same time that I started to really struggle with attending school, and I missed a lot of days, until I eventually switched to independent study. And during the transition of my attendance he found a new group of friends, who I had a bad feeling about instantly. He started hanging out with them more and more and I started seeing him less and less. Our fights got more frequent and we really lacked communication, and when he was around I spent a lot of time crying, anxious of losing him, and feeling his friends truly hated me. I could tell how on edge he was, and I was so afraid I was losing him, but that only made my depression and anxiety worse. I felt he had become a completely different person, and started to say some kind of mean things about him to a friend, and when we talked about it he was truly angry. The same day though, he texted me saying he realized how terrible he had been acting towards me and that things would get better and we would hang out more and he’d start seeing me more often and how much he loved me. The next day, my phone went off and I woke up to a very long text message of him breaking up with me and saying he’d been thinking about it for a long time and had talked to many help lines and no one thought we could fix our relationship. He wouldn’t listen to me no matter what, and the conversation ended promptly with an overdose attempt that landed me in the hospital and a psych ward, and now some permanent minor heart damage. When I got out I tried to talk to him again and he said that he talked to his friends and was so embarrassed by our relationship and that they were surprised he stayed with me so long because I was abusive. He also had already started seeing a new girl, one I worry he may have been seeing beforehand without my knowledge. To top all of this off, he had slept with me, yet again, the day before breaking up with me, leaving me with a “I thought maybe I would feel something but I didn’t” A week later I was in the hospital again after trying to slit my wrist and narrowly missing my tendon. At this point, I’d had people pointing out to me all the ways he was abusive, including turning around the abusive and planting himself as the victim, and I finally admitted to myself that I had been sexually abused, which I had been holding in and denying thinking it was fine and I wanted it since there had been consensual sex and I hadn’t specifically asked him not to, although I didn’t try to initiate or participate in those times and once cried through it, and had woken up to what I could put simply as molestation. I was suffering of severe PTSD while in the hospital to the point where any small reminder of him triggered me into a spiraling panic attack that would leave me sobbing and shaking for hours. These panic attacks continued for months, and I’m still being affected by my PTSD 8 months later(which I guess isn’t a long time). Every day since the break up, my depression has been so much worse. I think about killing myself every day and started actively cutting myself again when I had been clean for a couple years (except for the occasional small relapse when I had a really bad panic attack). In total of my life, I’ve made 9 suicide attempts, only hospitalized for 3, and have never succeeded. I miss my boyfriend every day, and would take him back in a heartbeat even if I had to relive all the emotional and even sexual abuse from him. I’d take being compared to other girls and told I’d be happy if I wanted to be and him saying I wasn’t as attractive anymore to him, most likely because I gained weight. I’d take it all and I’d be so happy because I want him back and I think he was supposed to be my soul mate and I lost him, and to be honest I don’t want to live without him. But even if there was any chance of ever having him back, I came out about the abuse publicly and he immediately attacked me for it, so now I can only assume he truly hates me. There’s no chance of me ever getting him back, and I just want him. I won’t be happy until I have him, but I never will. And it’s made my want to die so much more intense. If I wasn’t afraid of what happens after you die or what my family and the few friends I have would have to go through if I killed myself, I’d be dead by now, because even currently I have a suicide plan. All I want is my boyfriend back.