This is the account I made 4 years ago on this site, but I never posted much. I did once but couldn’t put my thoughts into words, felt stupid, and eventually deleted it. I was a lurker. I’d read other people’s posts and use them to help me cry when I was so numb that I felt nothing. Crying was a good sign for me. At least that meant that some part of me was feeling emotion, some part of me was alive. Several years later, I am now in junior year of high school. I’m on zoloft and Prozac, but aside of that I’m no longer in therapy. My mother’s bipolar disorder is still there but we’re managing it as a family: something we couldn’t nor wanted to do before. My depressed and ADHD brother is now in college; he figured out school and got scholarships to attend a college in Vermont. My parents will probably divorce, but hey life can’t be perfect. And it definitely wasn’t perfect. But my suicidal thoughts and actions are simply in the past; my future is collegiate athletics and academics. And one day I will help those who are at rock bottom, those like me.
I was born depressed and bipolar. My heart rate was slow; it took me forever to learn how to walk. Reading was difficult, and I never really grew much. My mental health issues and physical disadvantages slowed the functioning of my body, and I struggled, rather silently, as my parents somehow believed that I would figure it out eventually, that maybe I was just a late bloomer. They were wrong. I maintained decent grades so my “issues” were often dismissed, but I started having hallucinations, migraines, panic attacks. I would self harm (some of these scars still exist today, almost a decade later). It was unimaginable. How could a child experience this, even have their own suicide attempt, in grade school? In 4 grade? But it was reality. By the time I reached 7th, I felt hopeless. I was determined to end my life before graduating from high school. I refused to pursue a future as an adult because I didn’t see one. That’s when I met a girl. She was beautiful, but that’s besides the point. She was in my grade, and to put it simply, she was a genius. Her IQ was 12 less than Einstein. I admired her in every way. I soon found out that this girl had PTSD from physical and sexual abuse from the age of 7 to 10. It stunned me. This girl was far more broken than I was. She hadn’t slept in days. Her parents would give her sleeping pills every few days to knock her out, trapping her in a world of nightmares and flashbacks. Strangely, these terrifying struggles allowed me to feel safe around her. We could relate to each other, at times even save each other. She became a person I could trust and rely on, and I would do the same for her. This girl and I climbed the ladder of life. She no longer needs treatment; her family is still chaotic but she can fight now, and she knows that it’s worth the fight. She has been my girlfriend for 4 years now. Now in no way is this the story of how “love can cure everything.” This is the story about how I found someone I could open up to. I found someone to care about, and at the end of the day, if you care, you will live because caring motivates all of your emotions, negative or positive. She showed me my hypocrisy because I would criticize myself but comfort her immediately afterwards. And I’d rethink my words and see complete contradiction. The doubt started to form, and I was forced to pick. Am I lying to her or am I lying to myself? Eventually, I changed what I was telling myself. I went into treatment. and I never thought I would say this, but I’m happy. I’m happy.
1 comment
Your story is so inspiring